.,         :    i    '• 


GIFT   OF 
Prof.    C.    A.    1'ofold 


Hints  On 
Photoplay  Writing 


COMPILED  FROM  THE  SERIES  OF 
ARTICLES  WRITTEN  BY 

CAPTAIN  LESLIE  T.   PEACOCKE 


FOR  PHOTOPLAY  MAGAZINE  AND 

WHICH  WERE  PUBLISHED 

1915-1916 


This  pocket-size  volume  contains  all  that 

can  be  taught  of  the  art  of  writing 

and  the  business  of  marketing 

moving  picture  scenarios 


PHOTOPLAY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
CHICAGO.  U.  S.  A, 


Copyright  1916  by 

PHOTOPLAY  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

(Published   July,    1916) 


Republication  of  any  portion  of  the  contents  of  this 
Book  without  permission  of  the  Pub- 
lishers is  forbidden. 


W,  F.  HAU.  PRINTING  COMPANY,  CHICAGO 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 
Foreword     1 

I.  Introductory  Briefs 5 

II.  The   Plot's   the    Thing 9 

III.  Construction,    Technique,    Titles 20 

IV.  Model    Synopses 44 

V.  Model    Scenarios 50 

VI.  Manuscript   Preparation 84 

VII.   Kinds  of  Stories  to  Write 89 

VIII.   Scenario   Producers    Want 98 

IX.  Making  the  Game  Pay 115 

Addendum 

Directory  of  Producing  Companies 135 

Glossary     138 

M111788 


CAPT.   PEACOCKE 


FOREWORD 

THIS  BOOK,  BY  A  FOREMOST  AUTHORITY, 
CONTAINS  ALL  THAT  CAN  BE  TAUGHT  ON 
THE  CONCEPTION  AND  PREPARATION  OF 
MOTION  PICTURE  SCENARIOS. 

DO  you  want  to  write  a  moving  picture 
scenario?  Do  you  want  to  ki}ow 
how  to  write  it  so  that  it  will  stand  a 
chance  of  acceptance  ?  If  you  do,  this  book 
is  compiled  to  help  you. 

Is  there  a  story  in  your  life,  or  the  life  of 
your  next-door  neighbor?  Is  there  a  plot 
in  that  story?  Can  you  put  your  pen  to 
that  plot  and  make  it  live — leap  out — in 
rivid  situations? 

If  you  can,  you  have  in  hand  a  moving 
picture  story  which  you  can  sell;  because 
you  have  something  the  public  wants  to  see 
portrayed. 

Hundreds  of  thousands  of  persons  in  all 
parts  of  the  world  want  to  write  moving 
picture  plays,  and  a  great  many  of  them 


2  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

are    writing   them — and   having   them   re- 
turned.    This  book  is  full  of  instructions- 
hints   and  helps — which,   if  you  will  take 
careful  heed  of  them,  may  keep  your  moving 
picture  story  from  being  sent  back. 

Photoplay  Magazine  has  made  up  this 
book  from  the  dozen  or  so  of  articles  writ- 
ten for  Photoplay  by  Captain  Leslie  T. 
Peacocke  in  1915-1916  issues.  He  is  one  of 
the  world's  foremost  writers  and  editors  of 
scenarios. 

In  this  book  the  effort  has  been  made  to 
compile  the  salient  points  of  advice  which 
his  great  store  of  experience  enabled  him  to 
give  to  the  public. 

Photoplay  Magazine  calls  particular  at- 
tention to  this  important  information  which 
runs  through  Captain  Peacocke's  writings: 
What  the  studio  directors — the  ultimate 
buyers  of  manuscripts — want  is  not  details, 
'but  THE  STORY,  and  always  a  brief, 
clean-cut  synopsis  with  it.  A  plot  will  be 
bought  if  it  is  good;  the  mere  technique  of 
the  idea  is  not  saleable.  The  studios  have 
their  own  experts  to  take  care  of  the 
technique. 

If   you   have   in   mind   a    story   that   is 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  3 

adaptable  to  screen  portrayal — a  story  crisp, 
snappy,  full  of  human  happenings  and 
saturated  with  situations  and  suspense 
(especially  with  suspense) — you  can  sell  it. 

As  Captain  Peacocke  pointed  out  in  his 
articles,  a  mere  story  is  not  sufficient  for  the 
purposes  of  the  screen.  It  must  be  a  story 
with  situations  in  it  which  appeal  to  the 
imagination  and  make  you  wonder  what  is 
going  to  happen  next.  That  does  not  at  all 
mean  that  it  must  be  a  weird  story.  The 
best  stories  in  literature  are  the  stories  which 
deal  with  life  as  life  is.  Life  itself  is 
strange  enough  without  being  twisted  into 
impossible  situations.  The  thing  to  do  is 
to  depict  truth  in  a  vivid  way. 

One  of  the  public's  best  criticisms  of  the 
screen  today  is  that  too  many  of  its  pictures 
are  not  logical.  They  may  be  thrilling, 
they  may  excite  for  the  moment,  their 
characters  may  be  splendidly  portrayed  by 
splendid  actors  and  actresses,  but  if  the 
story  the  picture  tells  is  not  logical — not 
true  to  life — that  film  will  have  no  more 
than  a  momentary  popularity  in  the 
theaters. 

The  photoplay  has  made  a  phenomenal 


4  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

and  unprecedented  appeal  to  all  classes. 
It  is  now  lifting  itself  from  an  industry 
into  an  art.  It  is  perfectly  natural,  arid 
entirely  laudable,  that  a  person  should 
desire  to  become  a  working  part  in  a  new 
and  great  art.  This  book  is  published  for 
the  purpose  of  helping  YOU  to  do  so,  if 
you  are  determined  to  become  a  part  in  the 
development  of  moving  pictures. 

Genius  is  born,  not  imparted;  but  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  instruction  is  necessary 
before  anyone  can  become  a  successful 
craftsman. 

The  attention  of  the  readers  of  this  book 
is  called  to  the  successful  campaign  Photo- 
play Magazine  has  waged  against  dishonest 
"schools"  purporting  to  teach  the  art  of 
scenario  writing  for  a  price.  Scenario  writ- 
ing (the  sort  that  brings  acceptance  checks 
from  producers)  cannot  be  taught;  hints 
to  help  are  the  extent  of  the  instruction 
possible. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


INTRODUCTORY  BRIEFS 

IF  you  have  a  strong,  original  plot,  you 
already  have  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  a 
successful  scenario. 

It  isn't  often  a  beginner's  first  attempt  is 
successful.  If  you  are  in  earnest  you  will 
keep  on. 

Your  head  is  usually  a  better  place  to 
work  over  your  half-baked  plot  than  pencil 
and  paper  or  the  ear  of  a  friend.  O  beware 
of  the  ear  of  a  friend ! 

Before  the  scenario  comes  the  making  of 
the  synopsis.  A  good  synopsis  won't 
sell  a  poor  scenario,  but  many  a  good 
scenario  has  lost  a  hearing  because  of  a 
poor  synopsis. 

The  briefer,  crisper,  more  pointed  and 
compact  a  synopsis  is,  the  friendlier  will  be 
its  reception  by  the  scenario  editor,  who  is  a 
very,  very,  very  busy  man.  Sometimes  his 
mail  brings  him  as  many  as  four  hundred 
'scripts  in  a  day.  Be  brief  with  him  and  he 


6  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

may  be  good  to  you.  A  synopsis  of  fifty 
words  is  just  fifty  times  better  than  a  synop- 
sis of  twenty-five  hundred  words — which 
never  in  the  wide  world  will  be  read  unless 
it  is  submitted  in  lieu  of  a  scenario. 

Beginners  will  do  well  to  aim  at  one  and 
two-reel  stories,  instead  of  falling  down  on 
four  and  five-reelers  and  longer.  You  can't 
be  a  steamship  captain  without  experience. 

Don't  strain  yourself  to  concoct  a  bizarre 
plot.  The  successful  one  or  two-reel  story 
may  be  living  next  door  to  you  behind  your 
neighbor's  curtains.  Leave  the  big  attempts 
to  the  big,  experienced  men,  at  the  start. 
Moreover,  the  public  loves  a  simple, 
homely  story  if  the  heart  interest  be  strong. 
Remember  "Shore  Acres"  and  "The  Old 
Homestead."  They're  running  yet. 

Never,  under  any  circumstances,  take 
your  plot  from  anything  that  has  been 
printed.  If  yours  isn't  an  original  plot- 
that  is,  a  plot  originating  with  you — the 
scenario  readers  will  recognize  the  fact  at  a 
glance  and  return  it.  They  are  paid  to  know 
what  has  been  printed. 

Don't  fool  with  fine  writing  or  attempts 
at  fine  writing.  You  are  just  clogging  the 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  7 

wheels  that  may  be  grinding  grist  for  you. 
Tell  your  story  as  simply  as  you  know  how. 

It  is  good  general  advice  to  beginners  to 
submit  nothing  but  two  synopses,  one  very 
brief,  the  other  extended  to  cover  the  story 
in  its  important  details,  instead  of  attempt- 
ing the  creation  of  a  professional  scenario 
'script.  Many  producers  so  prefer.  Of 
course  if  you  feel  competent — go  ahead. 

Steer  clear  of  vice  stories  and  stories  with 
unhappy  endings.  A  story  with  tears 
instead  of  smiles  in  its  tail  has  to  be  a  wonder 
to  get  by  the  scenario  editor,  the  managing 
director,  and  the  producer. 

If  you  don't  understand  a  subject,  you've 
no  business  to  write  about  it.  The  world  is 
full  of  experts  in  their  lines. 

You  can't  sell  a  scenario  unless  it's  type- 
written. You  can't  even  get  it  read. 

Don't  send  loose  stamps  for  return 
of  manuscript.  Enclose  self-addressed 
stamped  envelope.  It's  a  rule  of  the  game. 

Let  "slapstick"  comedies  alone.  The 
world's  pretty  weary  of  them  anyhow,  and 
any  that  are  needed  will  be  manufactured 
"on  the  inside," 


8  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Don't  essay  costume  plays.  Wasting 
your  time. 

War  plays  ditto. 

Don't  send  in  July  a  scenario  that  has  to 
be  made  in  December  or  January.  Be  as 
seasonable  as  the  seasons. 

Don't  write  Bible  or  allegorical  stories 
and  expect  to  sell  them.  You  can't. 

The  best  teacher  of  scenario  writing  is 
the  moving  picture  screen  itself.  Watch 
the  different  pictures,  as  many  of  them  as 
you  can  see ;  study  them,  ponder  their  theses 
and  thats  and  whys,  and  you  will  learn. 

Be  careful  about  making  your  scenarios 
so  lavish  or  difficult  that  their  expense  to  the 
producer  will  prevent  their  acceptance. 

If  you  can't  sell  your  own  scenario,  no 
agent  can  sell  it  for  you.  Don't  throw  away 
your  money  and  time  on  middlemen. 

Don't  become  discouraged.  Faint  heart 
ne'er  won  scenario  check. 


II 

THE  PLOT'S  THE  THING 

A  FINE  Production!  An  interesting 
"Star"!  Acting  Splendid!  Good 
Photography!  Beautiful  Stage  Settings 
and  Scenery!  Capably  Directed!  Details 
almost  Perfect!  BUT— f( What  was  it  all 
about?" 

That  is  the  questioning  wail  you  hear 
from  all  sides  when  the  average  photoplay 
is  under  discussion.  "What  was  it  all 
about?" 

Everything  good,  except  THE  STORY. 

If  the  production  is  a  so-called  "Feature" 
in  four  or  more  reels,  then  9  times  out  of  10 
it  will  be  an  adaptation  of  a  mildewed,  time- 
worn  stage  play,  or  of  a  fiction  book  with 
a  plot  as  weak  as  church-social  punch. 

If  the  production  is  a  short,  one  or  two- 
reel  subject,  then  7  times  out  of  10  it  will 
have  emanated  from  a  "staff -writer"  who  is 
urged  into  turning  out  at  least  two  " 


10  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

inal"  photoplays  a  week,  or  else  stand  an 
excellent  chance  of  losing  his  job. 

Dozens  of  splendid  original  stories  may 
be  among  the  hundreds  submitted  through 
the  mail  by  capable  free-lance  writers,  but 
will  never  be  brought  to  the  eye  of  the 
scenario  editor  or  of  a  producing  director, 
because  if  the  outside  material  submitted 
should  prove  to  be  consistently  better  than 
that  turned  out  by  the  salaried  writers,  the 
latter  would  naturally  suffer. 

Staff- writers  cannot  do  it  all,  and  the 
sooner  the  real  heads  of  the  film-producing 
companies  begin  to  realize  this,  the  better 
for  the  moving  picture  industry.  They 
must  have  staff -writers — even  more  than 


make  the  mistake  of 
thinking  the  market  success  of 
your  submitted  scenario  rests  upon 
technical  instructions  about  how  to 
build  the  scenes  in  front  6f  the 
camera.  Studio  department  heads 
are  paid  to  take  care  of  that.  What 
they  want  from  you  is  an  idea. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  11 

they  now  employ — but  they  must  be  con- 
structionists,  not  hack  photoplay  writers. 
They  may  be  called  upon  to  write  stories 
on  special  subjects  when  such  are  required, 
and  should  be  capable  of  turning  out  a 
good  story  in  such  cases;  as  the  majority 
of  the  staff -writers  at  present  employed 
undoubtedly  are;  but  their  chief  duties 
should  be  in  reconstructing  good  original 
stories  that  reach  the  scenario  departments 
from  various  sources,  and  adapting  such 
plays  and  books  as  the  management  has 
decided  upon  producing. 

Original  stories !  Original  photoplays 
especially  written  for  the  screen  by  compe- 
tent scenario  writers!  That  is  the  urgent 
need  of  the  film  manufacturing  companies. 
It  had  to  come,  as  we  all  knew  it  would. 
Nearly  all  the  stage  plays  and  published 
books  that  lent  themselves  to  film  adapta- 
tion have  been  produced  or  are  in  the 
course  of  production,  and  now  the  eyes  of 
the  big  men  in  the  moving  picture  industry 
are  turning  on  the  individual  who  has  been 
patiently  waiting  for  recognition, — the  sce- 
nario writer  with  original  ideas,  who  has 


12  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

been  devoting  thought  and  study  to  the 
screen. 

Now,  the  novice  who  is  just  starting  in  to 
write  scenarios  will  naturally  argue  that  this 
may  be  all  very  fine  for  the  scenario  editors, 
staff-writers,  and  others  who  have  already 
won  recognition  from  the  film  companies, 
but  that  those  who  have  yet  their  spurs  to 
win  will  receive  as  scant  treatment  as  ever 
before. 

This  is  not  so.  Good,  original,  virile, 
human,  up-to-date  stories,  well  worked  out 
into  scenes,  with  logical  continuity,  are  what 
the  heads  of  the  firms  and  the  producing 
directors  are  ardently  fishing  for,  no  matter 
from  what  source  they  come.  It  is  becoming 
an  open  market  for  the  competent  scenario 
writer,  and  is  becoming  more  so  every  day. 

Remember,  it  is  not  only  in  your  plots 
that  you  must  be  original.  It  is  also  in  the 
little  touches  which  the  spark  of  genius 
within  you  may  inspire  that  makes  for  strik- 
ing contrast  in  your  proposed  production  to 
others  you  may  have  seen. 

Try  and  evolve  novel  situations  and  ef- 
fects throughout  your  scenario.  These  may 
be  wrought  by  carefully-thought-out  "close- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  13 

ups"  and  scenic  effects  which  may  occur  to 
you  in  your  daily  or  nightly  walks.  Try 
and  look  at  things  with  a  "  earner  a  eye;"  a 
knowledge  of  photography  is  very  helpful 
in  scenario  writing.  The  camera-man  plays 
a  very  important  part  in  a  production ;  more 
so  than  producers  appear  to  realize.  A 
capable  camera-man  is  quite  as  important  to 
the  success  of  a  film  production  as  is  the 
director;  in  fact,  more  so,  and  although 
somewhat  late  in  the  day,  this  is  being 
acknowledged  by  the  heads  of  the  firms  pro- 
ducing moving  pictures. 

You  must  not  get  the  idea  into  your  head 
that  photoplay  writing  is  easier  work  than 
short-story  writing.  It  is  not.  As  a  photo- 
play has  to  be  evolved  nowadays,  I  think 
that  short-story  writing  is  by  far  the  easier 
of  the  two.  Of  course  you  do  not  have  to 
battle  with  "dialogue,"  or  descriptive  mat- 
ter, but  you  have  to  create  suspense. 

The  plot  is  the  thing.  The  original  plot. 
Have  you  one?  If  you  have,  guard  it  as 
carefully  as  the  pupil  of  your  eye.  Be 
careful  to  whom  you  submit  it.  Do  not 
whisper  it,  even  to  your  best  friend.  An 


14  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

original  plot  for  a  photoplay  means  big 
money  these  days;  and,  like  a  rare  postage 
stamp,  gains  in  value  every  day — provided, 
of  course,  that  some  one  else  does  not  hit 
upon  the  same  idea  and  market  it  before  you 
do.  There  is,  unfortunately,  always  that 
danger  to  be  reckoned  with. 

I  do  not  believe  there  is  much  danger  in 
having  an  original  plot  pirated  by  the  mem- 
bers of  any  reputable  scenario  department, 
because  if  a  staff -writer  should  be  once 
caught  and  denounced  as  a  literary  pirate, 
he  W7ould  be  blacklisted  from  New  York  to 
the  Pacific  Coast.  And,  nowadays,  "read- 
ers" are  being  employed  by  the  foremost 
film  producing  companies,  and  the  staff- 
writers  do  not  have  the  handling  of  scripts 
submitted  by  free-lance  writers  until  they 
have  passed  through  the  readers'  hands,  so 
the  purloining  of  a  submitted  plot  would 
surely  be  detected,  if  any  staff-writer  felt 
inclined  to  be  dishonest ;  which  I  very  much 
doubt,  because  (with  one  exception)  I  have 
always  found  them  to  be  as  honorable  a  set 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  as  one  might  meet 
in  a  year's  march. 

But  if  you  submit  an  original  plot  to  some 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  15 

of  the  fake  concerns  which  claim  to  be  able 
to  find  a  market  for  photoplays  —  look  out! 
You  may  as  well  take  off  your  hat  to  your 
original  plot  and  say  "Good-bye"  —  or  per- 
haps "An  revoir"  would  be  the  more  sensi- 
ble parting,  because  you  will  probably  meet 
it  on  the  screen,  but  not  with  your  own  name 
attached  to  it  as  the  author  of  the  play. 

Now,  as  regards  the  current  or  future 
market  for  photoplays,  in  which  all  writers 
are  interested,  it  is  becoming  more  difficult 
to  give  bona  fide  advice  to  free-lance  writ- 
ers, because  the  producing  companies  are  so 
continually  changing  the  subjects  and  the 
lengths  of  their  productions. 


story  is  the  main  thing! 
Studios  are  literally  pestered 
with  "correctly  constructed  plots3' 
which  have  nothing  good  about  them 
but  their  technique  -  -  commonly 
picked  up  at  second  hand.  Technique 
never  put  soul  into  a  plot  and  never 
will.  Remember  that  and  —  remem- 
ber that! 


16  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Some  of  the  old  reliable  companies  are 
abandoning  the  one  and  two-reel  pictures 
altogether,  and  are  going  in  solely  for  five- 
reel  features,  while  others,  having  found 
the  so-called  "features"  a  losing  game,  are 
reverting  to  the  short  subjects.  They  are 
like  the  Old  Woman  Who  Lived  in  a  Shoe. 
They  don't  know  what  to  do,  and  for  advice 
they  are  relying  largely  on  a  fickle  public; 
so  it  is  on  that  same  fickle  jade  the  writers 
have  to  depend,  and,  believe  me,  she  keeps 
us  all  guessing! 

A  number  of  writers  are  submitting  and 
marketing  their  synopses  only,  leaving  it  to 
scenario  departments  to  wrork  their  plots 
into  proper  scenario  form.  Perhaps  they 
are  wise  in  doing  this ;  some  scenario  editors 
prefer  it. 

Merely  doping  out  your  stoiy,  scene  by 
scene,  and  only  bearing  in  mind  its  logical 
continuity,  does  not  constitute  a  worth- 
while photoplay.  We  see  many  such  pro- 
duced on  the  screen,  and  they,  somehow,  fall 
flat.  There  is  something  missing.  They  are 
eggs  without  salt.  They  are  homes  without 
children.  They  may  be  good  stories;  they 
may  please  us,  and  all  that — but  they  lack 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  17 

something  badly,  and  that  something  is  the , 
Master  Touch. 

Now,  you  can  give  your  story  that  Touch 
if  you  will  only  give  the  thought  and  care 
that  is  necessary  when  evolving  your  sce- 
nario. Remember  that  there  may  be  as 
much  expression  depicted  by  a  "close-up" 
of  a  hand  or  a  foot,  deftly  inserted  in  a  dra- 
matic scene,  as  there  may  be  in  a  semi-dis- 
tant view  of  a  whole  human  body.  And, 
above  all,  create  suspense. 

You  do  not  always  require  a  strong  dra- 
matic situation  or  climax  to  create  suspense ; 
but  you  should  keep  it  up  right  throughout 
your  whole  scenario,  if  you  can.  It's  the 
little  deft  touches  that  count.  Put  salt  upon 
your  egg — bring  in  the  little  touches  of 


average  magazine  story  con- 
-*  tains  as  much  plot  as  the  average 
long  book  or  stage  play,  and  the 
average  scenario  which  is  evolved  by 
the  writers  who  have  made  it  their 
business  contains  more  originality 
than  either  of  those  two. 


18  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

•  Nature  that  strike  the  human  chord  in  every 
country  in  the  universe. 

A  "close-up "  of  an  infant's  tiny  foot,  with 
the  weeny  toes  wiggling,  wrill  entice  a  lump 
to  every  woman's  throat — if  her  heart  is 
not  a  stone.  A  man  may  smile  at  the  flashed 
scene,  but  if  he's  a  father,  and  away  from 
home,  it  won't  seem  altogether  a  ridiculous 
thing  to  him.  It  has  struck  a  chord  within. 
It's  that  touch  of  Nature  which  makes  the 
whole  world  kin ! 

I  cannot  too  strongly  advise  magazine 
story  writers  to  reserve  the  film  rights  to  any 
stories  which  contain  plots  original  and 
strong  enough  to  be  made  into  film  produc- 
tions. Sell  the  fiction  rights  only  to  the  mag- 
azines. Very  often  the  film  rights  will  net 
you  thrice  the  amount  you  may  receive  for 
the  fiction  rights,  and  surely  the  author  is  the 
one  who  should  be  entitled  to  all  that  may 
accrue  from  the  efforts  of  his  or  her  brain. 

I,  myself,  adapted  a  magazine  story  for 
a  five-reel  feature  not  long  ago,  for  which 
the  film-producing  company  paid  one  hun- 
dred dollars  to  the  publishers  of  the  maga- 
zine. I  know  the  author  of  the  story,  and 
he  told  me  that  he  sold  all  rights  to  the  pub- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  19 

lishers  for  thirty-five  dollars,  and  he  felt, 
naturally,  aggrieved.  However,  he  will  be 
wiser  in  the  future. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  you  can  write  fiction, 
which  every  photoplay  writer  should  endeav- 
or to  do,  you  should  reserve  all  fiction  rights 
to  the  plot  embodied  in  your  scenario.  You 
are  entitled  to  reap  all  the  benefits,  and  no 
fair-minded  scenario  editor  will  refuse  you 
if  you  demand  the  reservation  when  submit- 
ting your  script. 


Ill 

CONSTRUCTION,  TECHNIQUE, 
TITLES  • 

not  attempt  to  be  "literary."  Stick 
to  simple  language; — the  simpler,  the 
better, — as  the  reader  is  anxious  to  get  at  the 
heart  of  the  story  and  cares  nothing  about 
literary  style. 

Next  we  must  have  our  cast  of  characters. 
Their  names  should  be  short,  as  we  will  find 
in  working  out  the  scenes  of  the  photoplay 
that  short  names  are  easier  to  write  and  to 
remember.  How  much  easier  it  is  to  write, 
"May  Stubbs,"  perhaps  fifty  times  during 
the  working  out  of  a  script,  than  to  have  to 
worry  with  "Virginia  Maltravers"  through 
the  same  amount  of  scenes.  This  we  soon 
learn  from  experience. 

Then  we  must  state  the  age  of  each 
character,  and  append  a  short  description 
of  each  one,  and  state  what  relation  one 
bears  to  the  other,  if  any. 

20 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  21 

We  must  only  deal  with  the  main  char- 
acters at  first; — the  ones  we  are  certain  of 
using; — and  then,  later,  when  the  minor 
auxiliary  characters  crop  up,  as  they  are 
more  than  apt  to,  we  can  add  them  to  our 
already  formed  list.  This  can  be  done  when 
our  photoplay  is  finished. 

Then  we  start  to  work  out  our  scenes, 
introducing  our  characters  in  the  strongest, 
but  most  logical  way  possible.  We  must 
make  each  scene  stand  out  by  itself,  yet  tell 
the  action  in  as  few  words  as  possible.  Any 
scenes  which  threaten  to  be  unduly  long- 
should  be  broken  up  by  "flashing  back"  to 
some  other  scene  which  is  helping  to  carry 
the  story,  and  then  returning  again  to  the 
scene  and  continuing  it  to  its  conclusion. 

Now  we  will  try  and  outline  as  clearly  as 
we  can,  without  being  too  technical,  how  the 
scenes  of  the  photoplay  should  be  evolved. 

In  these,  as  in  the  synopsis,  brevity  allied 
with  clearness  is  the  chief  essential.  No 
attempt  should  ever  be  made  to  too  clearly 
depict  a  scene.  A  very  great  deal  must  be 
left  to  the  common  sense  of  the  producing 
director. 

To  convey  what  I  mean,  I  will  depict  the 


22  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

following  few  scenes,  which  I  take  at  ran- 
dom from  a  produced  photoplay,  and  will 
then  explain  why  the  scenes  and  the  action 
embodied  in  them  are  sketched  so  very 
briefly. 

Scene  1 — Park — Mary  (a  flirt)  seated  on  bench 
reading.  Charlie  approaches.  Flirtation.  Eyes 
only.  Charlie  walks  past  and  off.  Mary  rises, 
walks  off,  opposite  direction. 

Scene  & — Park — Close-up  of  Charlie  looking 
back  and  smiling  conceitedly. 

Scene  3 — Park  Gates — Close-up  of  Mary  look- 
ing back  and  smiling  encouragingly. 

Scene  4 — Street — Mary  walking.  Meets  Char- 
lie. He  passes  her.  She  drops  her  handkerchief. 
He  picks  it  up  and  presents  it  to  her.  Raises  his 
hat  and  walks  on.  Mary  continues  walking. 
Charlie  turns  back  and  follows  her. 

Scene  5 — Exterior  of  Swell  Restaurant — Mary 
appears  and  enters.  Then  Charlie  appears. 
Takes  out  purse;  examines  contents.  Is  satisfied 
he  can  meet  any  emergencies,  and  enters  res- 
taurant. 

Scene  6 — Interior  of  Restaurant — Mary  at 
table.  Waiter  taking  her  order.  Charlie  enters. 
Sits  at  adjacent  table.  Starts  to  study  the  menu. 
Cut  scene. 

Scene  7 — Street — Robert  (Mary's  fiance)  ap- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  23 

pears,  walking  rapidly ;  up  to  camera,  and  past 
it.     Cut  back  to 

Scene  8 — Interior  of  Restaurant — Mary  and 
Charlie  still  seated  at  adjacent  tables.  He  moves 
to  her  table  and  orders  battle  of  wine.  Waiter 
leaves  room.  They  flirt.  Charlie  kisses  her. 
Robert  enters.  Trouble.  Ending  with  Charlie 
lying  senseless  and  Robert  escorting  Mary  out  of 
restaurant. 

Here,  now,  we  have  eight  scenes,  and  all 
described  so  clearly,  I  hope,  that  anyone 
with  average  intelligence  can  understand 
them.  The  topic  is  not  a  very  well  chosen 
one,  perhaps,  but  it  is  a  very  common  one 
and  easily  grasped  by  all. 

The  action  runs  smoothly  throughout 
and  does  not  need  a  single  "subtitle"  to 
assist  it  along.  Subtitles  must  be  used  as 
little  as  possible.  A  scenario  full  of  sub- 
titles is  one  that  is  badly  written.  A  writer 
should  be  able  to  make  the  action  in  the 
continued  scenes  convey  the  story.  How- 
ever, that  is  a  subject  we  must  deal  with 
later  and  at  more  length.  We  will  now 
diagnose  the  scenes  described  above. 

Scene  1  is  described  by  the  single  word 
"Park."  That  is  enough.  There  is  no  use 


24  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

in  trying  to  describe  the  sort  of  park  you 
may  have  in  mind.  The  director  will  select 
his  own  location,  but  he  will  have  sense 
enough  to  knowr  that  it  must  contain  a  path, 
and  that  there  is  a  bench  at  the  edge  of  the 
path  for  Mary  to  sit  on.  You  may  trust  to 
the  director  to  pick  out  a  suitable  location 
and  to  know  the  meaning  of  the  single  word 
"Flirtation."  The  majority  of  them  are 
married  men  and  have  learned  how  to  use 
their  eyes  in  early  youth,  the  same  as  other 
people. 

Scenes  2  and  3  are  described  as  "Close- 
Up,  "  which  means  to  convey  that  they  are 
the  figures  of  Mary  and  Charlie  taken  at 
very  close  range  of  the  camera. 


N  Y  embryonic  photoplay 
writers — and  some  not  so  em- 
bryonic in  the  game — are  hazy  in 
their  minds  about  the  meaning  of 
certain  technical  terms  in  the  make- 
up  of  a  scenario.  It  is  well,  though 
by  no  means  essential,  to  have  a  little 
information  on  this  subject. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  25 

These  "close-ups,"  as  they  are  called, 
should  be  frequently  used  in  a  scenario,  as 
they  bring  the  audience  in  close  touch  with 
the  characters  and  help  to  relieve  the 
monotony  of  distant  and  half-distant  scenes. 
This  you  will  readily  grasp  if  you  are  a 
close  observer  of  the  pictures  you  see  on 
the  screen,  which  every  scenario  writer  must 
be,  if  she  or  he  hopes  to  succeed. 

Scene  4  is  a  Street.  That  is  sufficient. 
Here  again  the  director  will  select  his  own 
location.  Never  attempt  to  describe  ordi- 
nary scenes.  You  can  never  tell  where  the 
producing  company  will  be  located.  It 
may  be  in  the  heart  of  New  York  city,  or 
the  woods  of  New  Jersey,  or  the  sun-kist 
slums  of  Los  Angeles,  or  the  boulevards  of 
Chicago.  No  matter  where  he  may  be,  you 
may  rest  assured  the  director  will  select  the 
best  site  that  offers. 

Scene  5  needs  no  comment.  It  is  taken 
for  granted  that  Mary  would  not  enter  a 
cheap  restaurant.  She  was  reading  in  the 
park  and  is  therefore  a  girl  of  leisure  and 
probably  wealthy.  No  doubt,  well  dressed, 
or  Charlie  would  not  have  wanted  to  flirt 
with  her  or  to  examine  the  state  of  his 


26  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

finances  to  see  whether  he  could  afford  to 
treat  her  to  a  lunch  in  the  restaurant. 

Scene  6  is  also  very  clear.  At  the  close 
of  the  scene  you  will  notice  the  words: 
"Cut  Scene."  This  means  to  convey  that 
as  soon  as  Charlie  starts  to  study  the  menu 
the  scene  is  finished — i.  e.,  the  camera  stops 
working. 

Scene  7  is  another  Street  scene.  At  the 
end  of  the  scene  you  wrill  notice  the  words : 
"Cut  back  to."  This  explains  that  your 
next  scene  will  be  the  same  as  number  6. 
You  cut  back  to  the  preceding  scene. 

Scene  8  is  therefore  the  same  as  scene  6, 
and  the  action  is  a  continuation  of  the  other. 
When  Robert  has  entered,  the  one  word 
"Trouble"  is  sufficient  to  indicate  to  the 
director  that  there  will  be  a  quarrel  and 
probably  a  fight. 

The  director  will  devise  the  action  he 
wishes  to  depict  and  will  do  it  better  than 
you  or  I  probably  could,  as  he  knows  the 
people  in  his  cast  and  their  various  tem- 
peraments. Directors  make  their  own 
troubles. 

Of  course  in  the  scenario  containing  the 
above  scenes  there  were  some  preceding 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  27 

scenes,  showing  Mary  flirting  at  a  party 
and  then  becoming  engaged  to  Robert,  but 
the  scenes  which  I  have  taken  at  random 
from  the  scenario  will  clearly  convey  all 
that  I  intend,  I  am  sure.  I  am  trying  to 
explain  to  you  how  simply  and  clearly 
scenes  should  be  worked  out,  and  that  a 
great  deal  must  be  left  to  the  intelligence 
of  the  director.  Be  concise  in  everything. 

The  scenario  of  a  photoplay,  which 
practically  means  the  photoplay  itself,  is 
divided  into  a  number  of  scenes,  and  every 
time  the  camera  is  shifted  to  a  new  posi- 
tion constitutes  a  separate  scene;  even 
though  the  camera  is  shifted  back  and  forth 
to  the  same  scene,  after  having  been  shifted 
to  another  position. 

These  are  designated  "cut-backs"  or 
"flash-backs,"  when  they  occur  after  one 
intervening  scene.  Flash-backs  denote  very 
short  scenes  or  flashes,  and  cut-backs  typify 
reverting  to  scenes  of  ordinary  length.  The 
writer  should  not  concern  himself  with  the 
length  of  the  ordinary  scene  he  wishes  to 
depict,  as  that  will  largely  depend  on  how 
the  director  chooses  to  follow  the  action  out- 
lined in  the  script, 


28  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

I  have  found  that  about  40  scenes  to  a 
reel  in  a  dramatic  or  melodramatic  story  is 
what  is  most  pleasing  to  the  average  pro- 
ducing director,  and  from  50  to  75  scenes 
to  a  reel  can  be  employed  in  the  scenarioizing 
of  comedies ;  all  depending  on  the  quickness 
or  slowness  of  the  action. 

One  of  the  chief  points  in  good  scenario 
writing  is  to  preserve  a  logical  continuity. 
By  this  we  mean  that  the  scenes  and  the 
action  of  the  story  must  run  along  in  a 
smooth  sequence,  without  illogical  jumps 
and  breaks. 

Occasionally  the  continuity  must  be  pre- 
served by  the  careful  use  of  ''subtitles"  and 
"inserts,"  but  these  must  be  sparingly  used 
and  avoided  when  possible.  The  less  read- 
ing matter  you  impose  on  the  screen,  the 
better.  The  employment  of  long,  tedious 
"subtitles"  shows  the  hand  of  the  ignorant 
writer  of  photoplays.  The  public  does  not 
like  them,  and  the  exhibitors  hate  them. 
They  prefer  to  pay  for  scenes  and  action, 
and  not  for  printed  matter  on  their  screens. 

In  working  out  your  "continuity" — that 
is,  your  scenes  as  they  follow  each  other- 
make  a  judicious  use  of  "cut-backs"  and 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  29 

"flash  backs,"  to  create  suspense  and  make 
the  value  of  your  main  scenes  duly  felt. 
No  scene  should  be  too  long.  If  the  action 
of  a  scene  is  vitally  important  and  threatens 
to  be  too  prolonged,  then  break  it  up  by 
flashing  to  some  other  scene,  or  insert  a 
"close-up"  or  a  letter  or  a  worded  "in- 
sert," and  then  flash  back  to  the  scene  you 
have  broken  into.  This  will  relieve  the  sit- 
uation and  make  the  interest  centered  in 
that  scene  more  intense. 

If  your  plot  is  a  serious  one  and  your 
photoplay  aims  to  be  a  "thriller,"  you  will 
find  that  you  will  get  the  thrilling  effects 
you  want  by  gradually  working  up  to  the 
crucial  moments,  and  not  rushing  your 

TF  your  plot  is  a  serious  one  and 
-*  your  photoplay  aims  to  be  a  thrill- 
er, you  will  find  that  you  get  the 
thrilling  effects  you  want  by  grad- 
ually working  up  to  the  crucial  mo- 
ments, and  not  rushing  your  scenes 
too  much.  Create  plenty  of  sus- 
pense. 


30  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

scenes  too  much.  To  create  plenty  of  sus- 
pense and  keep  the  interest  up  to  fever 
heat  until  the  actual  "thrill"  occurs  should 
be  the  main  aim  of  the  writer.  Break  into 
your  main  secenes  with  a  series  of  "close- 
ups"  and  "cut-backs,"  particularly  in  cases 
where  you  wish  to  depict  fights  or  hair- 
breadth escapes.  The  mere  fact  of  two  men 
having  a  quick  tussle,  in  which  one  of  them 
gets  killed,  does  not  necessarily  constitute 
a  thrilling  episode;  but  if  you  can 
prolong  the  suspense  for  a  while,  giv- 
ing the  advantage  first  to  one  opponent  and 
then  to  the  other,  and  then  make  it  appear 
that  the  ultimate  winner  is  going  to  be  the 
victim,  but  when  all  seems  lost  make  him 
by  a  superhuman  effort  extricate  himself 
and  finally  overcome  the  other — then  you 
have  probably  got  the  audience  worked  up 
to  the  proper  state  of  excitement,  and  you 
have  landed  the  "punch"  which  is  necessary 
to  make  the  picture  a  success. 

Then,  no  matter  how  serious  the  subject 
of  your  story  may  be,  you  should  try,  when- 
ever possible,  but  without  breaking  the 
thread  of  the  story,  to  inject  some  comedy 
touches,  which  will  relieve  the  serious  ten- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  31 

sion  and  keep  the  audience  in  good  humor. 
Stories  that  are  too  serious  throughout  are 
apt  to  bore,  and  a  touch  of  light  comedy 
injected  now  and  then  will  always  prove  a 
welcome  relief.  But  do  not  let  your  comedy 
be  of  the  slapstick  variety.  Try  and  inject 
some  good  comedy  situations,  which  will  not 
altogether  take  from  the  serious  plot  of  the 
story,  whilst  winning  a  happy  smile  from 
the  audience. 

The  producing  director  will  be  quick  to 
recognize  the  comedy  situation  and  will 
gladly  welcome  it.  If  he  is  of  opinion  that 
it  is  irrelevant  to  the  story  he  will,  of  course, 
eliminate  it,  but  most  directors  are  prone  to 
grasp  anything  that  is  likely  to  relieve  a 
production  from  monotony. 

Film  manufacturing  companies  are  pay- 
ing more  careful  attention  to  the  cost  of 
their  productions  than  they  used  to  do. 

Make  your  scenes  short ;  do  not  elaborate ; 
don't  try  to  be  technical.  Be  clear  and  con- 
cise in  the  description  of  your  scenes  and  of 
your  characters.  Don't  aim  to  be  literary. 
You  are  dealing  with  practical  people 
and  you  are  aiming  to  do  practical  work. 
For  instance: — "Mary"  is  your  heroine. 


32  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Describe  her  thus.  (Mary; — Age  20— 
Pretty. — Well  dressed.)  That  describes 
Mary.  She  is  obviously  wealthy,  or  she 
would  not  be  wrell  dressed;  that  is  to  say, 
"well  dressed"  as  understood  from  the  play- 
wright's point  of  view;  which  is  an  opposite 
term  to  "poorly  dressed"; — although,  as  we 
know,  many  poor  girls  dress  in  better  taste 
than  their  wealthier  sisters! 

If  a  scene  threatens  to  be  unduly  long, 
then  break  it  up,  by  either  inserting  a 
"close-up"  or  a  "cut-back." 

I  do  not  want  any  of  our  readers  to  get 
the  impression  that  I  am  aiming  to  teach  the 
art  of  photoplay  writing,  because  I  do  not 
believe  that  any  mortal  being  can  do  that. 
I  am  merely  giving  to  others  the  experience 
I  have  gained,  and  pointing  out  the  pitfalls 
which  beset  the  unwary  writer  on  all  sides. 

I  must  repeat  to  you  again  and  again,  to 
go  and  watch  the  pictures  on  the  screen,  and 
count  the  number  of  scenes  in  each  picture 
that  you  see.  You  will  find  that,  on  an 
average,  there  will  be  from  40  to  45  scenes 
to  the  reel  in  dramatic  and  melodramatic 
stories ;  and  from  55  to  75  scenes  to  the  reel 
in  comedy-dramas  and  comedies. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  33 

Most  of  the  best  producing  directors,  who 
are  affiliated  with  the  leading  film  compa- 
nies,— particularly  with  the  feature  pro- 
ducing companies, — employ  two  or  three 
cameras  in  the  filming  of  big,  important 
scenes,  and  they  are  very  wise  in  doing  so, 
because  they  get  results  of  uninterrupted 
"Action"  that  are  not  possible  when  using 
only  one  camera,  which  involves  stopping 
the  action  in  scenes  in  order  to  procure 
"close-up  effects"  or  the  same  scenes  taken 
(or  "shot,"  as  the  technical  term  is)  from 
different  angles.  I  will  endeavor  to  make 
this  more  clear,  and  show  in  a  practical  way 
what  I  mean. 

Supposing  you  have  a  big  ballroom  or 
cabaret  scene,  in  which  you  want  to  insert 
one  or  more  "close-ups"  of  the  leading  char- 
acters, and  you  want  to  show  the  scene 
"shot"  from  different  angles,  so  as  to  impart 
variety  to  the  beautiful  setting  which  the 
wise  director  will  doubtless  have  prepared. 
Then  the  following  is  a  very  practical  way 
in  which  to  describe  in  your  scenario  the 
scene  and  the  embodied  "Action"  which  you 
want  to  convey. 

Say  your  scene  is  number  63,  a  big  ball- 


34  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

room  in  which  vital  action  connected  with 
your  story  takes  place :  then  describe  it  like 
this. 

Scene  63 — Big  Ballroom,  sumptuously  fur- 
nished. Orchestra  on  balcony  in  rear.  Glass 
swinging  doors,  under  the  balcony,  leading  into 
conservatory.  Show  Dick  dancing  with  Rachel  in 
and  out  amongst  the  crowd  of  dancers.  Ignatz 
in  foreground,  looking  angry  and  jealous.  (Have 
three  cameras  on  this  scene,  shooting  at  different 
angles,  so  as  to  get  close-up  of  Dick  and  Rachel 
dancing  and  enthralled  with  each  other,  and  close- 
up  of  Ignatz,  his  face  distorted  with  jealous  rage; 
and  also  a  focus  on  the  door  leading  into  conserv- 
atory, through  which  Dick  and  Rachel  will  go 
together  at  close  of  dance,  followed  hotly  by 
Ignatz.)  The  action  and  length  of  scene  and 
number  of  inserts  at  discretion  of  the  director. 

Here  you  have  the  whole  setting  and 
action. of  this  dance  depicted,  all  in  one 
scene,  which  can  be  carried  out  by  the 
director  without  stopping  the  action,  thus 
saving  time ;  which  is  always  valuable  in  the 
filming  of  big  scenes  where  high-salaried 
artists  and  a  number  of  extra  persons  are 
employed.  Besides,  it  will  be  more  natural 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  35 

and  less  strained  than  would  be  the  case  if 
the  action  were  stopped  every  now  and  then 
to  get  the  close-ups  and  the  scene  from  the 
various  angles.  In  fact,  sometimes  four 
cameras  will  be  working  on  a  scene  of  this 
•character,  one  camera  being  stationed  up 
in  the  roof  of  the  studio,  shooting  down  and 
getting  a  bird's-eye  effect  that  is  very 
pleasing. 

I  trust  that  I  have  made  the  foregoing 
sufficiently  clear  to  the  reader.  The  average 
director  likes  to  have  a  scene  described  to 
him  in  this  manner  ( I  have  learned  by  expe- 
rience), and  welcomes  scenes  such  as  this, 
because  it  gives  his  imagination  full  scope 
and  condenses  the  action  you  mean  to 
convey. 

Never  have  unnecessary  scenes  in  your 
scenario.  If  "Dick"  is  leaving  his  office  to 
call  on  "Rachel,"  don't  show  him  coming 
out  from  the  office  building,  then  going  up 
the  street,  then  entering  the  gate  leading  to 
Rachel's  home,  then  ringing  the  door-bell. 
Just  show  him  leaving  his  office,  then  cut  to 
"Ignatz"  drinking  himself  to  death,  or  some- 
thing equally  exciting;  and  then  cut  to 
"Rachel"  in  the  parlor  of  her  home,  a  knock 


36  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

at  the  door,  and  Dick  being  admitted  by  the 
maid.  Don't  pad.  Let  the  director  do  that, 
if  he  wants  to;  but  don't  you  be  guilty  of 
padding,  for  it  is  a  gross  crime  and  lowers 
the  standard  of  your  play. 

If  you  have  a  strong,  gripping,  one-reel 
story  full  of  vital  action  right  through,  don't 
try  and  pad  it  out  to  a  two-reeler.  It  will 
be  weak  then. 

If  you  have  a  good,  original  story,  work 
it  out  to  its  logical  conclusion.  Make  every 
scene  depict  and  mean  something.  Don't 
make  your  characters  aimlessly  walk  about 
from  one  location  to  another  merely  to  fill 
in  scenes  that  can  be  left  out  of  the  produc- 
tion to  its  advantage.  Nothing  bores  and 
irritates  a  moving  picture  audience  so  much 
as  a  "padded  out"  story,  and  if  the  moving 
picture  industry  is  to  continue  to  interest 
the  masses  a  drastic  embargo  will  have  to  be 
put  upon  needlessly-drawn-out  film  produc- 
tions. If  not,  there  will  be  a  slump  from 
which  it  never  will  recover. 

The  scenario  writer  is  the  responsible 
party  of  the  first  part  and  must  avoid  this 
above  everything  else.  If  there  is  a  big 
slump  in  "pictures"  the  scenario  writers  will 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  37 

have  to  go  back  to  fiction  writing,  or  the 
banking  business,  or  hog  raising,  or  milli- 
nery, or  whatever  former  avocation  they 
found  to  be  most  congenial  and  profitable. 

If  your  story  calls  for  the  depicting  of 
vices,  let  it  point  a  good  moral  and  prove 
a  warning  to  your  fellow  men  and  women 
that  the  cultivation  of  wrong-doing  of  any 
kind  whatever  does  not  pay.  But  your  com- 
edies must  be  absolutely  clean  and  free  from 
suggestiveness.  Comedy  and  immoralilty 
make  a  very  nauseating  dish. 

What  is  the  "technique"  of  a  photoplay? 
I'm  sugared  if  I  know!  All  the  wise- 
acres who  are  writing  on  the  art  of  photo- 
play writing  keep  continually  harping  on 
that  word,  as  if  it  were  a  mythical  some- 
thing that  we  grasp  from  nowhere,  but  which 
must  be  vitally  essential  to  insure  success. 
Bosh!  To  the  Devil  with  technique!  We 
want  to  be  photoplay-writers,  not  technol- 
ogists. 

Of  course  there  are  certain  forms  to  be 
observed  in  the  construction  of  a  scenario, 
such  as  making  a  short  and  comprehensive 
synopsis  of  the  story — so  short  and  closely 
knit  together  that  the  reader  who  has  the 


38  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

power  of  accepting  or  rejecting  the  script 
may  readily  grasp  the  plot,  without  having 
to  wade  through  a  superfluous  lot  of  matter 
that  doesn't  amount  to  a  hill-of -beans.  Then 
there's  the  cast  of  characters  to  be  consid- 
ered, with  a  short  description  of  their  ages, 
sex,  and  calling  in  life.  (A  few  words 
devoted  to  each  character  is  sufficient — such 
as,  "Dick,  a  clerk,  age  25,  tall  and  hand- 
some"— showing  at  once  that  Dick  is  a 
manly  looking  fellow,  in  humble  circum- 
stances, and  therefore  a  hero!) 

Then  follows  the  working  out  of  the 
scenes,  and  the  shortest  possible  description 
of  the  action  which  is  necessary  for  the  pro- 
ducing director  to  follow.  He  will  easily 
grasp  what  you  mean  to  convey  if  you  de- 
scribe the  action  clearly  and  concisely.  The 
following  is  a  good  example: 

"Scene    6. — Parlor;    Charley    asleep    in 
chair,  his  mouth  open.    Jane  enters  on  tip- 
toe ;  tickles  his  nose  with  feather.    He  jumps 
up — she  struggles — love  scene — engaged- 
kiss — dissolve  out  the  scene." 

There!  That's  a  long  scene,  with  quite 
a  deal  of  action,  and  any  director  who  is  not 
a  fool  can  easily  grasp  the  situation  without 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  39 

having  a  lot  of  "technique"  rubbed  into  him. 
Don't  worry  about  technique — whatever  it 
is — but  keep  your  story  in  mind  and  make 
your  scenes  short  and  your  sequence  of  them . 
as  logical  and  as  free  from  "padding"  as 
possible. 

There  is  no  mystery  about  writing  photo- 
plays. Anyone  who  makes  a  study  of  pic- 
tures on  the  screen  and  who  can  visualize  a 
story  and  who  can  put  that  story  into  words 
which  constitute  short,  crisp  scenes,  which 
will  bring  the  story  to  a  logical  conclusion, 
can  write  a  photoplay. 

Every  day  more  "close-ups"  are  being 
employed,  and  some  directors  insert  them 
into  nearly  every  scene,  and  there  is  no  doubt 


clear  and  concise  in  the  descrip- 
tion  of  your  scenes  and  of  your 
characters.  Don't  aim  to  be  literary. 
You  are  dealing  with  practical  people 
and  you  are  aiming  to  do  practical 
work.  All  scenario  writers  will  be 
glad  to  know  that  the  field  is  grad- 
ually broadening. 


40  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

that  productions  are  being  considerably  im- 
proved by  them,  as  they  bring  the  audiences 
more  in  sympathy  with  the  characters  and 
make  the  portrayals  more  vivid.  After  all 
is  said  and  done,  we  are  dealing  with  photog- 
raphy, and  every  scenario  writer  should  try 
and  visualize  his  scenes  with  a  '  'camera 
eye."  I  will  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  that 
every  scenario  writer  should  own  a  small 
camera  and  learn  how  to  use  it,  so  as  to  find 
out  the  limitations  of  the  camera  and  how 
to  employ  it  in  shifting  from  one  scene  to 
,  another.  Knowledge  is  always  worth 
money,  if  employed  in  a  practical  way. 
Taking  "snap-shots"  will  show  you  the 
value  of  "close-ups"  in  depicting  the  action 
of  your  scenes,  besides  giving  you  the 
knowledge  of  what  can  be  embodied  in  a 
single  scene  through  the  eye  of  the  lens,  and 
what  cannot. 

In  evolving  your  scenario  you  must  pay 
great  care  and  thought  to  the  "continuity" 
of  the  scenes.  You  must  visualize  your  story 
as  you  go  along,  and  bear  your  characters  in 
mind,  as  you  would  your  pawns  on  the  chess 
board,  and  never  let  yourself  forget  that  a 
pawn  may  mean  a  king.  You  must  always 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  41 

remember  where  each  character  is  supposed 
to  be,  and  where  you  have  left  him,  or  her, 
so  that  you  can  bring  the  character  in  easily 
when  next  wanted.  Always  create  a  logical 
reason  for  each  character  to  be  in  each  scene 
depicted.  Don't  have,  them  wandering 
aimlessly  about.  And,  above  all,  never 
have  all  your  characters  in  the  same  scene. 
That  is  fatal. 

Make  two  synopses  of  your  story,  and 
send  them  in  together.  One  of  them  as  short, 
concise  and  gripping  as  possible,  so  that  the 
reader  can  grasp  your  plot  in  a  twinkling; 
and  the  other  more  fully  explanatory,  going 
more  into  the  detail  of  the  story.  And  then, 
if  the  reader  is  interested  in  the  plot  which 
he  has  already  quickly  grasped,  he  will  want 
to  read  the  other,  from  which  he  (the  reader 
may  be  a  scenario  editor  or  a  director)  wTill 
have  to  evolve  the  working  scenario. 

Always  try  and  put  yourself  in  the  read- 
er's place,  and  think  what  you  would  be  in- 
clined to  do  under  similar  circumstances. 
Wouldn't  a  good,  short,  concise,  gripping 
synopsis  appeal  to  you  more  readily  than  a 
long,  formidable,  uselessly  explanatory 
bunch  of  closely-written  sheets  of  reading 


42  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

matter — if  you  had  to  read  about  fifty 
photoplays  a  day?  Which  would  have  the 
better  chance  of  a  sympathetic  reading  if 
you  were  in  the  editorial  chair? 

A  good  title  will  often  go  far  towards  sell- 
ing a  scenario.  The  shorter  the  title,  the  bet- 
ter. One  word  will  often  be  more  potent  than 
four  or  five.  Can  anything'be  more  descrip- 
tive than  the  single  word,  "HATE"?  Or 
the  magic  word  "LOVE"?  I  am  sure  you 
can  easily  recall  many  photoplay  successes 
in  which  the  title  was  embodied  in  a  single 
word.  "Deserted"  and  "Hypocrites"  were 
both  big  successes.  A  title  need  not  neces- 
sarily be  lurid,  but  it  should  be  one  easily 
grasped  and  meaning  something.  A  great 
many  photoplays  are  thrown  aside  without 
even  a  cursory  reading  because  the  title  has 
not  appealed  to  the  readers  or  the  scenario 
editor.  With  a  good,  gripping  title  and  a 
fairly  original  plot,  and  with  scenes  clearly 
described  in  logical  sequence,  a  real  scenario 
will  not  go  long  a-begging  these  days. 

In  the  little  note-book  which  every  sce- 
nario writer  should  always  carry,  several 
pages  should  be  reserved  for  titles,  and 
whenever  one  comes  to  mind  that  is  worthy 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  43 

of  being  recorded,  it  should  instantly  be 
jotted  down.  A  title  will  often  suggest  a 
theme  for  a  story  and  is  almost  as  important 
as  the  story  itself. 


IV 
MODEL  SYNOPSES 

T  HAVE  received  many  letters  from  Edi- 
-^  tors  and  Directors  informing  me  that 
nearly  all  the  photoplays  submitted  have 
synopses  so  complicated  and  long  drawn  out 
that  the  plots  are  difficult  to  follow,  and  take 
so  long  to  unravel  that  the  main  points 
of  the  stories  are  lost.  So,  let  me  give  this 
advice  again:  Make  your  synopsis  as  short 
as  possible,  and  outline  your  stoiy  so  clearly 
that  a  child  can  readily  understand  the  main 
issues  which  you  want  to  convey. 

You  should  never  localize  your  exterior 
scenes  or  try  to  describe  them  too  carefully, 
because  you  cannot  know  in  what  city  or 
locality  the  company  which  may  produce 
your  story  is  likely  to  be  working  at  the  time. 
If  your  story  is  a  "Western"  one,  do  not 
jump  your  principal  characters  to  New 
York  and  show  them  in  exterior  scenes  in 
that  city.  It  would  be  too  expensive  a  jump. 

44 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  45 

In  cases  where  long  distances  have  to  be 
traversed  and  the  action  to  take  place  in 
specified  cities,  then  you  should  lay  your 
scenes  in  interiors.  Scenes  laid  in  the  coun- 
try do  not  so  much  matter,  because  locations 
calling  for  parks,  river  banks,  fields  and 
country  lanes  and  roads  can  generally  be 
found  that  will  pass  muster  for  the  localities 
intended. 

Make  your  characters  human.  Bring 
them  close  to  the  camera,  so  that  we  can  see 
their  facial  expressions  and  know  what  they 
are  thinking  about.  If  your  characters 
know  how  to  act  and  are  anyway  near  the 
age  they  are  supposed  to  be  this  can  be 
accomplished  with  as  much  success  as  on  the 
speaking  stage. 

What  is  more  pitiable  than  a  seasoned 
woman  of  35  enacting  the  role  of  a  kittenish 
maiden  of  17,  or  of  a  stiff-kneed  male  thes- 
pian  doing  stunts  for  which  he  might  have 
been  fprgiven  in  his  early  twenties  (which 
to  him  are  but  a  distant  memory) ,  but  which 
now  call  only  for  ridicule,  or  worse?  No, 
they  may  act  until  they  are  black  in  the  face 
and  until  their  wearied  bones  crack,  but  they 
cannot  fool  the  camera! 


46  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Here  is  a  model  synopsis: 

"WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  JONES"  —  Adapted  from 
the  famous  comedy  by  George  Broadhurst. 
Produced  in  a  five-reel  feature  film. 

Ebenezer  Goodly  (a  professor  of  anatomy),  his 
wife,  two  daughters  and  ward,  Cissy,  are  expect- 
ing a  visit  from  the  professor's  brother,  the  Bishop 
of  Ballarat,  Australia.  It  is  thirty  years  since 
the  professor  has  seen  his  brother,  and  none  of  the 
family  has  ever  met  him.  Secretly  the  Bishop 
has  been  making  love,  by  letter,  to  Alvina,  an 
elderly  spinster,  sister  to  the  professor's  wife. 

The  professor's  youngest  daughter  is  engaged 
to  Richard  Heatherly,  who  is  supposed  to  be  a 
very  good  young  man.  When  leaving  the  profes- 
sor's house,  however,  he  drops  a  card  of  admission 
to  a  prize  fight.  The  professor  finds  it  and  ac- 
cuses him.  After  much  discussion  Richard  per- 
suades the  professor — "In  the  interests  of  science" 
— to  accompany  him. 

During  the  fight  the  police  make  a  raid.  Rich- 
ard and  the  professor  escape  by  crawling  over  a 
stable  and  down  a  water  spout.  They  are  followed 
by  Jones,  a  traveling  salesman. 

A  policeman  was  near  enough  to  secure  part  of 
his  coat  tail,  but  Jones  gave  him  an  uppercut  and 
got  enough  start  to  follow  Richard  and  the  pro- 
fessor into  their  house.  He  demands  their  pro- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  47 

tection,  as  "they  are  all  in  this."  A  new  suit  of 
clothes  arrives  for  the  expected  Bishop,  Jones 
seizes  on  them  and  is  mistaken  by  the  whole  family 
for  the  Bishop.  He  thus  temporarily  evades  the 
police.  The  real  Bishop  arrives.  Jones  and 
Richard  get  him  to  his  room.  Richard  pretends 
to  be  a  valet  and  when  he  is  undressed,  Richard 
bolts  with  his  suit  to  insure  temporary  safety. 

A  note  arrives  from  a  neighboring  sanitarium 
to  say  a  lunatic  wrapped  in  a  blanket  and  imagin- 
ing himself  to  be  an  Indian,  has  escaped.  The 
Bishop,  getting  tired  of  imprisonment,  also  wraps 
himself  in  a  blanket  and  comes  down  stairs.  Every 
one  thinks  he  is  the  lunatic. 

The  right  one  is,  however,  taken  by  the  super- 
intendent. The  Bishop,  finding  Jones'  torn  suit 
under  the  bed,  puts  it  on,  and,  being  seen  at  the 
window  by  the  police,  is  taken  to  the  police  station. 
He  tells  such  a  plausible  story,  however,  that  he 
is  sent  back  again  with  the  policeman  for  further 
inquiries. 

The  professor  tells  the  truth  (that  the  real 
Bishop  in  his  brother).  Jones,  seeing  the  advan- 
tage, threatens  to  sue  for  $50,000  for  false  arrest 
of  the  Bishop,  and  the  policeman  begs  them  to  let 
the  matter  drop  and  goes  out  crestfallen.  Jones 
saves  Richard  and  the  professor  from  exposure 
by  saying  that  he  impersonated  the  Bishop  to 
gain  an  introduction  to  Cissy,  the  professor's 


48  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

ward,  whom  he  has  loved  for  a  long  time.  Cissy, 
who  now  knows  the  whole  story,  helps  him  out, 
and  everyone  puts  in  a  good  word  for  Jones. 

Here  is  another  model  synopsis: 

Alphonse  Marteau,  a  Frenchman,  and  his 
daughter,  Jeanette,  live  on  ranch;  his  neighbor, 
Franz  Schmitt,  German,  and  his  son,  live  on  ad- 
joining ranch.  Both  Marteau  and  Schmitt  are 
veterans  of  the  Franco-Prussian  war  of  1870. 
They  are  good  friends,  though,  and  Max,  son  of 
Schmitt,  is  suitor  for  Jeanette.  Jeanette  is  knit- 
ting scarf  for  Schmitt's  birthday. 

News  of  the  European  war  comes  to  both  fami- 
lies, bringing  back  to  both  men  the  memory  of 
their  fighting,  44  years  ago.  Schmitt  goes  to 
Marteau  and  finds  the  Tricolor  on  the  staff  before 
his  house;  enters  house  and  finds  Marteau  in  old 
uniform,  covered  with  decorations ;  Marteau  in 
great  excitement  starts  argument  and  gets  insult- 
ing, finally  striking  Schmitt  with  his  sword.  Max 
coming  in  with  Jeanette,  Marteau  forbids  Jean- 
ette further  friendship  with  Max;  Max  takes  his 
father  home.  There  Schmitt  orders  Max  to  put 
German  flag  on  his  staff  and  to  get  old  German 
uniform  with  the  Iron  Cross  decoration.  Max 
refuses ;  Schmitt  gets  them  himself. 

Two  weeks  later.  Schmitt  recovered  from  Mar- 
teau's  sword  wound.  Max  meets  Jeanette  coinci- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  49 

dently  on  river  where  she  is  getting  water;  they 
plan  to  reconcile  their  parents.  In  the  meanwhile 
Schmitt  goes  riding  and  finds  Marteau  uncon- 
scious, owing  to  a  fallen  log.  Schmitt  binds  up 
Marteau's  injured  arm  with  scarf  Jeanette  made 
him,  which  he  always  wears.  Schmitt  places  him 
across  his  horse ;  brings  him  to  Marteau's  home, 
Schmitt  leaves  Marteau  in  care  of  Jeanette. 

When  Marteau  recovers  consciousness,  he 
recognizes  Schmitt's  scarf  and  feels  remorse;  he 
sends  for  Schmitt  and  Max  and  a  reconciliation 
follows.  A  picture  comes  to  both  men's  minds ; 
both  see  themselves  in  their  uniforms  while  between 
them  stand  Max  and  Jeanette,  holding  Stars  and 
Stripes.  So  peace  and  contentment  reigned  in  both 
hearts. 

Moral:    In  a  neutral  country  be  neutral. 


V 
MODEL  SCENARIOS 

T  TERE  is  the  model  scenario  of  which  the 
*  -••  foregoing  synopsis  is  the  skeleton;  it 
illustrates  clearly  the  mode  of  expanding  the 
synopsis  into  the  working  script. 

CAST 

Alphonse  Marteau French  farmer 

Jeanette His   daughter 

Franz  Schmitt German  neighbor  of  Marteau 

Mao: His   son 

A  mail  carrier. 


LEADER:   Subtitle  1.     Peace  and  Friendship. 

Scene  1 — Parlor  in  Schmitt's  house.  Schmitt 
on.  Schmitt  reading;  Max  enters  with  game; 
congratulates  his  father  on  birthday. 

2 — Exterior  of  Marteau's  house.  Marteau 
comes  out;  looks  around;  re-enters. 

3 — Parlor  interior.  Jeanette  on.  Marteau 
comes  in,  looking  for  Jeanette;  finds  her  knitting 
scarf  for  Schmitt's  birthday. 

so 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  51 

4 — Close.     Jeanette  shows  scarf  to  her  father. 

5 — Parlor  same  as  scene  3.  Marteau  and  Jean- 
ette leave  room. 

6 — Exterior  of  Marteau's  house,  same  as  in  8. 
Marteau  and  Jeanette  leave  on  horseback  to  see 
Schmitt  and  bring  scarf  and  wishes  to  birthday. 

7 — Woods.  Show  Marteau  and  Jeanette 
riding. 

8 — Exterior  of  Schmitt's  house.  Marteau  and 
Jeanette  arrive;  knock  at  door. 

9 — Parlor  in  Schmitt^s  house,  same  as  in  1. 
Schmitt  and  Max  on.  Marteau  and  Jeanette 
enter,  received  joyfully;  make  merry;  Jeanette 
puts  scarf  on  Schmitt;  joy  and  thanks;  Max  and 
Jeanette  exit. 

10 — Schmitt's  garden.  Jeanette  and  Max  ca- 
ressing. 

11 — Garden.  Schmitt  and  Marteau  walking  in 
garden. 

12 — Bench  in  garden.  Max  and  Jeanette  on, 
caressing;  the  two  fathers  come  from  behind  bush 
and  watch  them  delightedly;  lovers  walk  out  of 
scene;  fathers  shake  hands. 

Subtitle  8.     Sad  Tidings. 

13 — Schmitt's  garden.  Schmitt  and  son  work- 
ing in  garden ;  mail  carrier  enters,  bringing  mail 
with  news  of  European  war. 

14 — Close.  Show  paper  close,  containing  news 
about  war  between  France  and  Germany. 


52  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

15 — Back  to  scene  13.  Schmitt  and  son  express 
regrets. 

16 — Schmitt's  stable.  Schmitt  and  son  saddling 
horses  to  bring  news  to  Marteau. 

17 — Fields.     Schmitt  and  son  riding. 

18 — Marteau's  garden.  Marteau  on.  Receives 
mail  and  news  about 4the  war;  goes  excitedly  into 
the  house. 

19 — Parlor.  Jeanette  on.  Marteau  enters  ex- 
citedly; shows  papers  to  daughter;  Marteau  takes 
flag  from  cupboard  and  both  exit. 

20 — Exterior  of  Marteau's  house.  Marteau 
and  Jeanette  come  out  of  house;  Marteau  starts 
to  put  up  flag ;  Jeanette  protests ;  no  use ;  flag 
goes  up. 

21 — Parlor,  same  as  in  19.  Jeanette  enters, 
sobbing. 

22 — Road.     Schmitt  and  son  riding. 

23 — Parlor,  same  as  19.  Jeanette  on.  Mar- 
teau enters  in  uniform  with  decorations,  poses  and 
flourishes  sword. 

Subtitle  8.     Fighting  Old  Battles. 

24 — Garden.  Jeanette  on.  Schmitt  and  son 
arrive  and  greet  Jeanette ;  exchange  news  ;  Schmitt 
asks  for  Marteau ;  Schmitt  goes  towards  house, 
while  Max  and  Jeanette  seat  themselves  on  bench. 

25 — Window.  Schmitt  looking  through  win- 
dow, sees — 

26 — Parlor.     Marteau  posing  in  uniform. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  53 

27 — Window,  same  as  25.  Schmitt  looking 
into  window;  goes  toward  door. 

28 — Door.     Schmitt  knocks  at  door. 

29 — Parlor,  same  as  26.  Marteau  hears  knock 
at  door;  goes  to  open  door. 

30 — Door.  Schmitt  on.  Marteau  opens; 
Schmitt  enters. 

31 — Parlor.  Schmitt  enters,  offering  Marteau 
hand  in  greeting ;  Marteau  refuses ;  starts  argu- 
ment about  war. 

32 — Bench  in  garden.  Max  and  Jeanette 
kissing. 

33 — Parlor,  same  as  31.  Marteau  gets  insult- 
ing. 

34 — Bench  in  garden,  same  as  32.     Max  and 
Jeanette  hear  noise  in  house;  exit. 
Subtitle  4»     The  Other  Veteran  of  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War. 

35 — Parlor,  same  as  33.  Marteau  and  Schmitt 
on ;  Schmitt  wounded  on  head ;  Max  and  Jeanette 
enter;  Marteau  forbids  Jeanette  further  friend- 
ship ;  Max  and  his  father  exit. 

36 — Room  in  Schmitt's  house.  Schmitt  and 
son  enter;  Schmitt  orders  Max  to  take  German 
flag  from  bureau  and  bring  German  uniform ;  Max 
protests ;  Schmitt  gets  flag  himself. 

37 — Garden  before   Schmitt's  house.      Schmitt 
comes  out  from  house  and  puts  up  German  flag. 
Subtitle  5.    For  the  Fatherland. 


54  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

38 — -Attic.  Schmitt  getting  uniform  from  old 
trunk,  lovingly. 

39 — Parlor  in  Schmitt's  house.  Max  on. 
Schmitt  enters  with  uniform  and  shows  to  son 
the  single  decoration,  the  Iron  Cross,  telling  him 
about  the  war  of  1870. 

40 — Close.     The  Iron  Cross. 

Subtitle  6.    Lonely  Hearts. 

41 — Mountain  and  woods.  Max  sitting  on  log; 
whittles  stick;  downcast;  exits. 

42 — Mountain  overlooking  Marteau's  farm. 
'Max  enters  and  looks  to  farm  longingly. 

43 — Fade  in  Jeanette  in  her  garden. 

44 — Back  to  scene  42.     Max  exits. 

45 — Bench  in  garden.  Jeanette  sitting  on 
bench,  lonely  and  dreaming. 

46 — Fade  in  scene  32. 

47. — Back  to  scene  45.  Jeanette  kissing  her 
ring  and  weeping. 

Subtitle  7.     Two  Weeks  Later. 

48 — Garden  before  Schmitt's  house.  Max 
cleaning  fishing  net;  Schmitt  comes  and  asks  son 
to  come  with  him  hunting;  Max  refuses;  Schmitt 
exits. 

49 — River.  Max  sitting  by  the  river  fishing. 
Jeanette  appears  on  opposite  side  to  get  water. 

50 — Shows  Max  crossing  river. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  55 

51 — Other  side  of  river.  Jeanette  on.  Max 
comes  through  river;  Jeanette  falls  weeping  in  his 
arms. 

52 — Close  view  of  Max  and  Jeanette. 

53 — Back  to  scene  .51.  Max  and  Jeanette 
seated  on  rock;  plan  to  make  peace  between  their 
parents. 

Subtitle  8.    Anxious  for  News. 

54 — Parlor  in  Schmitt's  house.  Schmitt  read- 
ing paper ;  happy  over  news  of  German  victory. 

55 — Paper  close;  headlines,  news  of  German 
victory. 

56 — Marteau's  parlor.  Marteau  reading  same 
paper;  anger  and  disgust. 

Subtitle  9.    The  Next  Day. 

57 — Marteau's  garden.  Marteau  reading 
paper ;  French  repulsing  Germans ;  shows  hap- 
piness. 

58 — Paper  close ;  headlines  of  French  repulsing 
Germans. 

59 — Schmitt's  parlor.  Schmitt  reading  same 
paper;  disgust. 

Subtitle  10.     The  Accident. 

60— Woods.  Marteau  busy  with  cutting  tree ; 
tree  falls,  striking  head  and  pinning  arm;  uncon- 
scious. 

61 — Close  view  of  Marteau  pinned  under  log 
and  still  unconscious. 


56  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

6£ — Woods.  Schmitt  riding;  sees  Marteau; 
hastens  forward. 

63 — Woods,  same  as  60.  Schmitt  arrives; 
pushes  tree  back. 

64 — Close.  Schmitt  kneeling  at  Marteau's 
side;  binds  injured  arm  to  splint  with  scarf. 

65 — Back  to  scene  60.  Shows  Schmitt  taking 
Marteau  on  his  horse  and  leading  him  to  his  home 
(Marteau's  home). 

Subtitle  11.    Good  for  Evil. 

66 — Gate  at  Marteau's  garden.  Jeanette  lean- 
ing on  gate  dejectedly;  sees  Schmitt  approaching 
with  Marteau  over  horse;  Schmitt  takes  Marteau 
from  horse  and  brings  him  into  house. 

67 — Marteau's  room.  Schmitt  and  Jeanette 
bring  Marteau  in  and  lay  him  on  couch ;  with  kind 
words  to  Jeanette,  Schmitt  exits. 

68 — Close.  Marteau  recovers  consciousness ; 
recognizes  Schmitt's  scarf;  is  remorseful. 

69 — Back  to  scene  67.  Jeanette  enters ;  Mar- 
teau shows  her  scarf  and  tells  her  that  Schmitt 
saved  his  life.  Bids  her  to  go  and  bring  him ;  she 
exits. 

Subtitle  13.     Reconciliation. 

70 — Schmitt's  garden.  Schmitt  and  Max  on; 
Jeanette  arrives ;  asks  them  to  come  to  her  father. 

71 — Marteau's  room,  same  as  in  67.  All  enter 
Marteau's  room;  Marteau  extends  hand  to 
Schmitt,  which  is  gladly  taken. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  57 

7£ — Vision.  Marteau  and  Schmitt  in  uniforms  ; 
Jeanette  and  Max  between  them,  holding  stars 
and  stripes. 

73 — Back  to  scene  71.  Schmitt  seated  by  Mar- 
teau's  couch ;  Jeanette  in  Max's  arms,  kissing,  etc. 
Happiness.  Fade  out. 

Some  Other  Examples 

HERE  are  two  other  examples  of  model 
photoplays,    each    with    its    synopsis, 
both  synopses  very  short: 

Enid  and  John  Granger  enter  their  home  after 
the  marriage  ceremony,  and  on  attempting  his 
first  embrace,  Granger  becomes  aware  of  the  in- 
tense dislike^  his  bride  has  for  him.  Hurt  and 
angry,  he  tells  her  that  they  shall  be  husband  and 
wife  in  name  only,  and  she  passes  into  her  room. 
There  she  goes  over  in  her  mind  the  manner  of  her 
engagement :  When  going  to  Granger  to  ask  post- 
ponement of  a  card  debt,  he  suggested  his  cancel- 
ling the  debt  or  her  marrying  him  to  be  settled  by 
the  turn  of  a  card.  They  cut  cards — she  loses  and 
their  wedding  is  the  result.  He,  going  to  his  room, 
pictures  to  himself  the  card  party  at  which  she 
incurred  the  debt  and  at  which  her  apparent  liking 
for  Gerald  Stanley  aroused  his  jealousy.  Weeks 
later,  when  the  guests  at  a  garden  party  and  din- 


58  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

ner  have  departed,  Gerald  remains  and  is  caught 
by  Granger  making  love  to  Enid.  Granger  puts 
her  out  of  room  and  offers  Gerald  a  chance  to  win 
her  by  a  pistol  duel.  Despairing  of  winning 
Enid's  love,  Granger  removes  cartridges  from  the 
gun  he  reserves  for  himself.  Enid,  seeing  this, 
rushes  in  from  hall  and,  dashing  between  them, 
bids  Gerald  go — declaring  to  the  astonished 
Granger  that  it  is  he,  her  husband,  she  loves. 

CAST 

Enid  Leroy. 
John  Granger. ' . 
Gerald  Stanley. 
Mrs.  Carlet on-Weed. 
Guests,  servants,  etc. 

PROPS. 

Card  Tables.  Cards.  Pistols. 

SCENES 

INTERIORS 

1,  2,  3,  13 Boudoir,  Enid's 

4,  12 Bedroom 

5,  6,  7,  8,  9, 10, 11, 

29,  31 Smoking  room,  Carletcn-Weed 

14,  16 Bedroom,  John's 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  59 

15 Drawing  room,  Carleton-Weed 

23,  25,  27,  82,  34, 

36,  38,  39,  32A, 

33,  35 Drawing  room.  Granger 

24S  26,  37 Hall,  Granger 

EXTERIORS 

17,  18,  19,  20,  21, 

22 Garden,      marquee,      pergola; 

Granger  outfit 
28,  30 Another  garden,  showing  one 

window  of  house 

Scene  1 — The  first  homecoming.  Interior,  bou- 
doir, two  doors  at  back.  Enter  Granger  and  Enid 
in  bridal  attire,  preceded  by  butler,  followed  by 
maid.  As  Granger  starts  to  help  her  off  with  her 
wraps  she  draws  away  from  him  in  manifest  dis- 
like. He  hands  maid  her  wraps  and  maid  exits. 
He  starts  to  talk,  but  Enid  is  indifferent  and 
stands  with  thoughts  evidently  far  away.  He 
takes  her  by  the  hands  and  leans  over  to  kiss  her, 
as  if  for  the  first  time  understanding  her  feelings 
toward  him,  he  pauses,  looks  her  straight  in  the 
eye,  studies  her  for  a  moment.  Her  eyes  do  not 
falter. 

Scene  2 — Close-up  picture  of  the  two  looking 
at  each  other. 

Scene  3 — Interior,  boudoir.  Granger  slowly 
points  to  door,  indicating  that  it  is  the  door  to 


60  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

her  room.  Indicates  that  the  other  door  belongs 
to  him.  Registers  that  her  room  is  hers  and  hers 
alone.  Opens  the  door  and  holds  it  open  as  she 
passes  through.  Closes  door. 

Scene  4 — Interior,  darkened  bedroom.  Moon- 
light streaming  in  window.  Enter  Enid,  and 
standing  in  the  moonlight,  looks  sadly  out.  Dis- 
solve out. 

Scene  5 — Interior  smoking  room.  Dissolve  in 
Granger  drops  to  his  chair  as  Enid  enters.  He 
tries  to  look  unconcerned  as  he  asks  what  he  can 
do  for  her.  He  stands  and  places  chair  for  her. 
She  refuses  and  seems  in  some  embarrassment  as 
to  how  to  begin.  Granger  looks  at  her  with  love 
and  anger  struggling  in  his  face.  Finally  Enid 
gestures  toward  some  cards  on  the  table  and  ges- 
tures that  she  is  unable  to  pay  what  she  owes  him. 
Will  he  wait?  He,  too,  looks  at  the  cards,  and 
an  idea  strikes  him.  He  takes  up  the  cards  and 
begins  to  shuffle  them,  she  looking  anxiously  on. 
He  looks  sternly  at  her,  and,  cards  in  hand,  ges- 
tures, cut  in : 

"The  best  two  out  of  three.    If  you  win,  Pll  cancel 
the  debt.    If  I  win  you  marry  me." 

She  starts  back  in  horror,  but  he  looks  implaca- 
ble as  he  awaits  her  assent.  Suddenly  the  gam- 
bler's instinct  awakens,  and  with  gleaming  eyes 
she  gestures  assent  and  eagerness  to  begin.  He 
puts  the  shuffled  pack  on  the  table  and  motions 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  61 

her  to  cut.  This  she  does.  He  motions  her  to 
take  the  first  card.  She  does  so  and  holds  it  till 
he  has  chosen.  They  hold  up  cards  together. 
Hers  the  ace  of  diamonds,  his  the  jack  of  the 
same  suite. 

Scene  6 — Close-up  of  two  hands  holding  cards. 

Scene  7 — Interior,  smoking  room.  Discover  the 
gleam  of  triumph  in  Enid's  eyes.  Granger  looks 
perfectly  calm  and  they  each  select  another  card. 
They  show  them  to  each  other.  This  time  Enid 
starts  nervously.  "Granger  maintains  a  stern 
calmness.  Granger's  card  is  the  king  of  clubs ; 
Enid's  the  queen  of  the  same  suite. 

Scene  8 — Close-up  picture  of  two  hands  hold- 
ing cards. 

Scene  9 — Interior,  smoking  room.  Discover 
Enid  now  very  nervous  and  Granger  looking  stern 
and  calm  as  before.  She  hesitates  before  choos- 
ing. He  takes  his  card  at  once.  A  look  of  fright- 
ened unbelief  crosses  her  face  as  they  compare 
cards.  He  holds  the  ace  of  hearts  and  she  the  ten 
of  spades.  Her  hand  trembles  as  she  holds  the 
card. 

Scene  10 — Close-up  picture  of  two  hands,  hers, 
trembling,  holdings  cards. 

Scene  11 — Interior,  smoking  room.  Discover 
Enid  and  Granger  as  before.  Slowly  they  put 
down  cards  and  look  in  each  other's  eyes.  He 
looks  uncompromisingly  at  her,  as  with  a  gesture 


62  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

of  pleading  she  begs  to  be  let  off.  He  gestures 
that  she  must  keep  to  her  bargain.  Again  she 
pleads,  but  he  is  inexorable  and  she  turns  to  go. 
He  reaches  out  his  hand,  which  she  ignores,  and 
pulling  herself  together,  exits  with  some  degree  ch~ 
composure  and  dignity,  after  looking  in  freezing 
manner  upon  Granger,  who  looks  triumphantly  as 
exits.  Dissolve  out. 

Scene  12 — Interior,  bedroom  as  scene  4.  Dis- 
solve in  Enid  coming  back  with  a  shudder.  She 
turns  and  sinks  slowly  into  chair;  is  convulsed 
with  sobs. 

Scene  13 — Interior,  boudoir.  Discover  Granger 
walking  up  and  down,  with  angry  look.  He  turns, 
looks  at  door  of  bedroom  and  exits. 

Scene  14 — Interior,  darkened  bedroom.  Enter 
Granger,  turns  on  light,  closes  door  in  angry 
fashion,  crosses  to  chair  and  sits  lost  in  angry 
thought.  Dissolve  out.  (Interpose.) 

Scene  15  —  Interior,  handsomely  furnished 
drawing  room  of  country  house ;  card  tables.  Dis- 
solve in  guests  just  finishing  an  evening  at  bridge. 
Enid,  John  Granger  and  two  others  at  table  in 
foreground;  others  go  up,  leaving  Enid  and 
Granger  in  foreground.  Enid  indicates  that  she 
has  lost.  Gestures  to  John  Granger  that  she  will 
pay,  but  as  she  turns  away,  looks  worried.  He 
glances  at  her  with  a  loving  look,  but  as  Gerald 
comes  to  her  from  Mrs.  Carleton-Weed  to  whom 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  63 

he  has  been  talking,  and  as  Enid  receives  him  with 
unfeigned  joy,  a  jealous  frown  crossed  Granger's 
face.  Mrs.  Weed  circulates  among  her  guests, 
most  of  whom  gesture  an  intention  of  retiring  for 
the  night.  Most  of  party  exit  through  door  to 
hall.  Enid  and  Gerald  exit,  talking  interestedly 
to  each  other.  Granger  follows,  looking  blackly 
at  them  and  absently  answering  the  remarks  of 
his  hostess,  who  walks  to  his  side.  Dissolve  out. 
.(Interpose.) 

Scene  16  —  Interior,  bedroom.  Dissolve  in 
Granger,  whose  eyes  gleam  for  a  moment;  sits 
looking  moodily  before  him,  then,  rising  heavily, 
goes  to  chiffonier  and  begins  to  take  off  collar 
and  tie. 

Their  formal  entertainments  found  her  a  perfect 
hostess  and  none  guessed  their  strained  rela- 
tions. 

Scene  17 — Exterior,  garden,  marquee.  Dis- 
cover Enid  and  Granger  receiving  guests.  Many 
other  guests  strolling  about.  Granger  walks  off 
with  Mrs.  Carleton-Weed  and  Enid  talks  to 
Gerald.  They  exit. 

Scene  18 — Exterior,  garden.  Enter  Granger 
and  Mrs.  Weed;  others  enter  and  group  talks. 

Scene  19 — Exterior,  pergola.  Enter  Enid  and 
Gerald,  who  is  apparently  talking  lovingly  to  her. 
They  seat  themselves,  and,  he  taking  her  hand, 


64  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

seems  to  be  pleading,  she  only  half  reluctant  to 
hear. 

Scene  20 — Exterior,  garden  as  in  18.  Group 
talking  and  laughing,  as  in  scene  18.  Granger, 
with  a  look  about,  detaches  himself,  and  as  he 
looks  off  his  face  grows  angry. 

Scene  21 — Exterior,  pergola,  as  in  scene  19. 
Enid  and  Gerald  as  before,  he  apparently  plead- 
ing and  she  not  averse  to  listening. 

Scene  22-^Exterior,  garden.     With  an  angry 
gesture  Granger  is  about  to  step  off,  when  Mrs. 
Carleton-Weed  turns  and  makes  some  laughing  re- 
mark which  causes  him  to  return  to  group. 
The  last  of  the  guests. 

Scene  23 — Interior,  drawing  room  of  Granger 
home.  Guests  of  afternoon  taking  their  leave. 
Gerald  remains  as  Granger  exits  with  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton-Weed and  party.  Gerald  goes  over  and  takes 
her  hand.  He  holds  it  as  they  talk.  He  presses 
her  to  elope. 

Scene  24 — Interior,  hall  and  open  entrance 
doors,  curtained  doorway  to  drawing  room.  Dis- 
cover Granger  standing  at  door,  bowing  to  last  of 
the  departing  guests.  Butler  enters  from  stoop 
and  Granger  turns  away.  Butler  closes  door  and 
exits.  Granger  is  about  to  re-enter  parlor  when 
he  halts ;  stands  horrified,  looking  through  cur- 
tains. 

Scene  25 — Interior,  drawing  rooom.     Discover 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  65 

Enid  and  Gerald  still  hand  in  hand.  Gerald  looks 
about,  then  starts  to  kiss  her.  Granger's  face  is 
seen  peering  between  curtains.  As  Gerald  starts 
to  kiss  Enid  he  and  she  both  sense  the  presence 
of  some  one,  and  drawing  back,  confront  the  stern 
face  of  Granger  as  he  advances  into  room.  As 
the  embarrassed  couple  draw  from  each  other 
Granger  sternly  gestures  to  Enid, 
"Go  to  your  room.'9 

She  exits  with  one  pleading  look  as  if  begging  him 
to  spare  Gerald. 

Scene  26 — Interior,  hall,  stairway.  Enter  Enid 
and  starts  upstairs,  then  changes  her  mind,  and 
turning,  listens  in  shamefaced  way  at  curtains. 

Scene  27 — Interior,  drawing  room.  Discover 
Granger  returning  from  drawing  curtains.  He 
turns  and  speaks  sternly  to  Gerald.  Dissolve  out. 

Scene  28 — Exterior,  garden,  window  of  house. 
Dissolve  in  Gerald  waiting  as  Enid  comes  around 
corner  of  house.  Gerald  greets  her  warmly  and 
she  looks  lovingly  at  him.  Looking  about  to  see  if 
he  is  observed,  Gerald  kisses  her  hand.  She  only 
feebly  remonstrates.  Granger's  face  is  seen  at 
window. 

Scene  29 — Interior,  smoking  room,  as  before. 
Granger  looking  from  window  with  angry  and 
jealous  look. 

Scene  30 — Exterior,  garden.  Enid  gestures 
that  she  must  go  into  house,  and  asks  a  question, 


66  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

gesturing  toward  house.  Granger's  face  is  hastily 
withdrawn  as  she  looks  up.  Gerald  gestures  yes, 
and  she  exits  with  a  wistful  look  backward. 

Scene  31 — Interior,  smoking  room.  Granger 
walking  from  window  with  angry  and  jealous  look 
and  dropping  into  chair  as  door  slowly  opens. 
Dissolve  out. 

Scene  32 — Interior,  drawing  room.  Dissolve  in 
Gerald  beginning  to  look  frightened  and  to  glance 
about  apprehensively.  Granger  goes  to  cabinet 
and  from  compartment  takes  out  pistols.  Going 
to  Gerald  he  gestures.  Cut  in 
"Only  one  man  leaves  this  place  alive,  and  Tie  must 
swear  to  make  Enid  happy.'9 

As  Gerald  turns  shudderingly  away,  Granger 
gives  a  despairing  look  as  though  thinking  of 
Enid.  Then  pulls  himself  together,  and  with  a 
furtive  look  at  Gerald  and  with  an  air  of  determi- 
nation, deliberately  removes  cartridges  from  one 
of  the  pistols. 

Scene  32A — Close-up  of  Granger  removing 
cartridges.  As  he  does  this,  Enid's  face,  with 
fear-widened  eyes  appears  at  curtains ;  gazes  as  if 
fascinated. 

Scene  33 — Close-up  picture  of  Enid's  face  with 
fear-widened  eyes,  gazing  as  if  fascinated. 

Scene  34 — Interior,  drawing  room.  As  Granger 
finishes  he  hands  Gerald  loaded  gun,  which  he  has 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  67 

to  force  on  him  as  he  protests  in  a  cowardly  way. 
Takes  up  broken  and  unloaded  gun. 

Scene  35 — Close-up  picture  of  Granger's  hand 
picking  up  unloaded  gun. 

Scene  36 — Interior,  drawing  room.  At  a  signal 
from  Granger,  both  men  slowly  raise  guns  and  aim. 

Scene  37 — Exterior,  hall.  Enid  draws  back 
with  an  expression  of  horror;  puts  her  hands  be- 
fore her  eyes,  then  with  a  gesture  of  determination 
rushes  from  the  hall. 

Scene  38 — Men  about  to  fire  as  Enid  bursts 
into  room,  and  rushing  between  them,  stands  in 
front  of  the  surprised  Granger,  looking  at 
Granger  with  the  eyes  of  a  tigress  protecting  her 
young.  Gerald's  eyes  drop ;  he  lets  gun  fall  to 
floor.  Granger  makes  a  move  toward  him,  but 
Enid  restrains  him,  and,  pointing  to  Gerald,  ges- 
tures, Go.  He  slinks  out  and  Enid  turns  to  the 
astonished  Granger  and  gestures,  cut  in 
"It's  you  I  love,  John" 

He  looks  as  if  scarcely  able  to  believe  it.  With 
a  loving  look  she  goes  to  him  and  he  takes  her 
unresisting  into  his  arms. 

Scene  39 — Close-up  picture  of  Granger  taking 
the  unresisting  Enid  into  his  arms. 

Here  is  one  of  the  briefest  synopses  on 
record. 


68  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Mr.  Walter  Greene,  tiring  of  his  wife's  pro- 
pensity for  indulging  in  bridge  parties  and  social 
functions,  to  the  neglect  of  her  domestic  duties, 
undertakes  to  teach  her  a  lesson,  which  is  not  with- 
out its  effect. 

CAST 

Mr.  Walter  Greene. 

His  wife,  Mrs.  Greene. 

Greene's  father-in-law. 

Greene's  mother-in-law. 

Greene's  sister-in-law. 

Latter's  fiance. 

Janitor  of  office  building. 

Female  cook. 

Butler. 

Caterer. 

Some  bridge  guests.     Women. 

PROPS. 

Cook  Book.   Novels.   Fire.   Cooking.   Dinner. 
Tray  of  Food. 

SCENES 


,  Drawing  room 
.Office 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  69 

3 Ext.  Greene's  residence 

4,  26 Hallway. 

5,  8, 10, 16, 18,  20,  23,  25, 

28,  30 Parlor 

6,  9,  12,  1.4,  22,  24,  29. ..  Dining  room 

7,  11,  13,  19,  21,  27 Kitchen 

15 Ext.  stationery  store 

17 Coal  bin 

Scene  1 — Drawing  room  set.  Animated  party 
of  women  playing  at  bridge.  Mrs.  Greene,  her 
mother  and  sister  conspicuous.  Game  concludes 
with  burst  of  hilarity  as  scene  opens.  Mrs. 
Greene,  a  heavy  loser,  rises,  much  chagrined.  As 
the  different  ladies  present  consult  the  clock  on 
the  mantelpiece,  more  bustle  is  apparent.  Good- 
byes are  exchanged.  Mrs.  Greene  takes  tender 
leave  of  her  mother  and  sister,  after  the  others 
have  gone,  and  then  herself  hurries  out. 

Scene  2 — Office  set.  Late.  Clock  points  to 
nearly  six.  Mr.  Greene  at  desk,  deeply  immersed 
in  voluminous  pile  of  papers  and  letters.  En- 
trance of  the  janitor  with  sweep  awakens  the  man 
of  business  to  the  fact  that  it  is  time  to  think  about 
going  home.  Heaving  a  sigh,  he  arranges  papers 
in  desk,  refers  to  his  watch,  closes  desk  with  tired, 
weary  air,  and  with  good-night  to  janitor,  gets 
into  overcoat  and  hat  and  hurries  out. 

Scene  3 — Exterior   Greene's   residence.      Nice- 


70  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

looking  brownstone.  Night.  House  dark  and 
cheerless.  Greene,  hurrying  along,  stops,  regards 
house  moment,  noticing  desolate  air  about  place, 
then  taking  out  key,  ascends  stoop  and  admits 
himself.  Taxi  drives  up.  Mrs.  Greene  alights, 
pays  driver  and  goes  in  house. 

Scene  4 — Hallway.  Butler  asleep.  Greene 
enters  and  with  disgusted  air,  arouses  man,  who 
jumps  up  and  mumbles  apologetically.  Greene 
hears  wife  letting  herself  in,  pauses  moment,  then 
disappears  through  door.  Enter  Mrs.  Greene, 
who  questions  man  as  to  whether  her  husband  has 
come  in  yet.  He  replying  in  the  affirmative,  she 
also  disappears  through  door  already  noticed. 

Scene  5 — Parlor  of  Greene  home.  Fire  gone 
out;  aspect  of  place  cold  and  cheerless  in  the  ex- 
treme. Greene  comes  in,  notes  the  lay  of  things, 
calls  butler,  who  enters  hastily  and  sets  about  re- 
lighting fire.  Mrs.  Greene  has  entered  almost  im- 
mediately after  her  husband  and  has  greeted  him 
with  a  careless  kiss.  After  which  she  hurries  out, 
as  she  says,  to  dress  for  dinner.  He  looks  after 
her  a  moment,  his  face  grim  and  set,  and  goes  out 
into  the  hall. 

Scene  6 — Dining  room.  No  preparation  for 
dinner  visible.  Greene  enters,  surveys  table,  looks 
vainly  around  for  signs  of  food,  and  enters  adjoin- 
ing kitchen. 

Scene  7 — Kitchen.    Cook,  head  on  table,  asleep. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  71 

No  signs  of  a  prospective  supper  anywhere  ap- 
parent. Greene  surveys  the  sleeping  beauty  for 
some  time,  then  arouses  her  and  tells  her  to  get 
busy.  Half  asleep,  she  gets  up,  is  profusely  apol- 
ogetic and  sorry,  and  with*  a  great  appearance  of 
bustle  and  haste,  begins  to  get  something  ready. 

Scene  8 — Back  to  parlor.  Greene  re-enters, 
and  his  wife,  resplendent  in  a  dinner  gown,  sweeps 
into  the  room  and  immediately  launches  forth  into 
a  faithful  recapitulation  of  the  day's  doings. 
Stops  short  in  surprise  as  she  notices  her  hus- 
band's unappreciative  manner,  but,  putting  it  all 
down  to  a  fit  of  sulks,  shrugs  her  shoulders,  looks 
at  clock,  and  descends  to  dinner.  Greene,  after  a 
moment's  reflection  and  hesitation,  follows. 

Scene  9 — Dining  room  again.  Mrs.  Greene 
comes  in,  seats  herself  and  is  served  by  the  cook 
with  some  bilious-looking  soup,  which  she  does 
away  with  without  question.  Mr.  G.  enters,  seats 
himself,  is  also  served,  partakes  and  pushes  away 
the  dish  in  disgust.  His  wife,  noticing,  demands 
to  know  the  matter.  He  rises,  dryly  bestows  a 
few  encomiums  upon  the  capabilities  of  the  cook 
and  his  wife's  ability  to  oversee  the  household  in 
his  absence,  and  quits  the  room.  Mrs.  G.'s  first 
impulse  is  to  rise  up  and  follow  him,  but,  rather 
indignant  at  his  manner  of  speech,  she  thinks  bet- 
ter of  it  and  goes  on  with  her  meal. 

Scene  10 — Back  to  parlor  again,     Greene  re- 


72  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

enters  and  throws  himself  in  a  chair,  inwardly 
fuming  at  the  state  of  affairs.  Cogitates.  Butler 
enters  and  ushers  in  his  father-in-law,  mother-in- 
law,  sister-in-law  and  the  latter's  fiance,  a  saccha- 
rine youth,  all  in  evening  dress.  Greene  responds 
to  their  greetings  distantly.  They  are  surprised 
to  learn  that  he  is  not  dressed  for  the  evening,  and 
is  not  ready  to  accompany  them,  and  ask  impa- 
tiently for  his  wife,  who  now  runs  in,  breathless, 
after  a  hasty  meal.  Mother  and  sister  draw  Mrs. 
G.  apart,  and  in  muffled  tones  want  to  know  the 
matter.  Mrs.  G.  shrugs  her  shoulders,  remarks 
that  if  her  husband  wants  to  be  disagreeable,  let 
him;  he'll  get  over  it.  Evinces  a  haste  to  be  off. 
All,  accordingly,  take  leave  of  Greene  and  go  out. 
He  thinks,  takes  out  a  cigar,  smokes  it,  finds  it  of 
little  enjoyment  on  an  empty  stomach,  throws  it 
away  in  grate,  rises,  paces  up  and  down  room. 
Suddenly  stops ;  faint  smile  passes  over  his  face, 
and  striking  the  table  energetically  with  his  fist, 
as  though  inspired  with  an  idea,  frames  resolution 
on  the  spot. 
The  next  morning.  Greene  determines  upon  a 

domestic  revolution. 

Scene  11 — Kitchen  again.  Morning.  Cook 
sleepily  preparing  breakfast.  Butler  sitting  in 
chair,  keeping  her  company,  chatting  idly.  Door 
opens  quickly  and  Greene  walks  in,  his  manner  full 
of  business,  Butler  jumps  up  quickly,  surprised 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  73 

and  alarmed  at  such  unwonted  intrusion.  Greene 
ascertains  just  how  far  cook  has  progressed  to- 
ward making  breakfast,  pulls  out  watch,  replaces 
it,  takes  out  pocketbook,  gives  her  money,  tells 
her  briefly  she  can  be  oft',  much  to  the  stupefaction 
of  cook,  and  goes  through  the  same  business  with 
the  astonished  and  dismayed  butler,  and  tells  them 
both  the  quicker  they  go,  the  better.  Cook  imme- 
diately drops  what  she  is  doing,  bounces  out,  fol- 
lowed by  the  discomfited  butler.  Mrs.  Greene,  in 
morning  gown,  appears  in  doorway,  amazed  and  a 
bit  frightened  at  her  husband's  behavior.  Hus- 
band turns*  to  her,  indicates  that  he  will  have  no 
more  lazy  cooks  about,  asks  her  peremptorily  if 
she  can  cook.  She  shakes  her  head,  rather  shame- 
facedly, in  the  negative.  Undaunted,  Greene  goes 
to  cupboard,  extracts  some  eggs,  pokes  fire.  Busi- 
ness of  Greene  cooking  eggs  stolidly.  To  allow 
him  time  to  do  so,  we  can  cut  to 

Scene  12 — Dining  room,  as  before.  Mrs.  Greene 
comes  in  to  sit  and  think,  incidentally  waxing  in- 
dignant at  her  husband's  unaccountable  behavior 
and  at  his  audacious  presumption  in  expecting  her 
to  cook  and  attend  house. 

Scene  13 — Kitchen  again.  Greene,  having  fin- 
ished eggs  and  coffee,  with  which  he  has  also  had 
some  business,  gets  some  plates  and  transfers  eggs 
to  same  and  carries  them  in  dining  room. 

Scene  14— Dining  room,    Mrs,  Greene,  present. 


74  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Enter  Greene  with  breakfast,  his  countenance  pas- 
sive and  inflexible.  Mrs.  G.,  with  touch  of  hauteur 
and  offended  dignity,  demands  an  explanation  of 
the  morning's  proceedings.  He  freezes  her  with 
chilly  stare,  meanwhile  applying  himself  to  eggs 
and  coffee  assiduously.  She  does  not  know  what 
to  make  of  the  situation  one  way  or  another.  Pres- 
ently Greene  finishes  and  rises.  Mrs.  G.,  rather 
awed  at  the  stony  silence  which  has  prevailed 
through  the  meal,  rises  to  kiss  husband,  hesitat- 
ingly. He  responds  icily  and  goes  out.  "What 
can  have  come  over  him?"  she  wonders,  as  she  sinks 
down  into  chair. 

Evening.     Further  progress  of  the  revolution. 

Scene  15 — Exterior  stationery  store.  Greene 
coming  out,  book  in  his  hand,  which  he  is  glancing 
over,  his  face  expressive  of  fixed  determination  and 
resolution.  Close-up  view  of  book,  a  cook  book. 
He  exits. 

Scene  16 — Parlor.  Cheerless,  empty,  atmos- 
phere as  before.  Enter  Greene,  stops  on  threshold, 
involuntarily  shivers,  looks  angry.  As  he  is  won- 
dering, Mrs.  G.  comes  in  with  street  wraps  on, 
and  greets  her  husband  with  decided  air  of  aloof- 
ness, with  which  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  treat 
him  for  his  conduct  of  the  morning.  She,  too,  is 
conscious  of  coldness  and  desolateness  of  the  place. 
Greene  removes  coat,  throws  it  on  back  of  chair, 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  75 

and  exits.  His  wife,  puzzled,  sinks  into  chair, 
wraps  and  all,  and  awaits  his  return. 

Scene  17 — Coal  bin.  Mr.  G.  descends  into  bin, 
fills  scuttle  of  coal  grimly,,  and  reascends. 

Scene  18 — Parlor  again.  Greene  returns  with 
coal.  Lights  fire,  his  wife  regarding  him  with  an 
ironic  little  smile.  Removes  wraps  and  disappears 
for  a  few  minutes,  the  while  Greene  has  business 
with  fire.  She  returns  shortly  with  a  novel,  and 
ensconcing  herself  in  chair,  prepares  to  read^pay- 
ing  no  attention  to  husband.  Greene,  having 
roused  fire  to  some  degree  of  warmth,  exits  in 
direction  of  dining  room.  Mrs.  G.  raises  eyes 
from  book  and  looks  after  him  with  curious 
interest. 

Scene  19 — Kitchen.  Mr.  Greene  penetrates 
kitchen  and,  with  fire  in  his  eye,  ascertains  that 
the  prospects  for  supper  are  of  an  extremely 
dubious  nature.  While  he  is  standing,  hesitating, 
there  is  a  knock  on  the  door.  He  opens  it,  to 
admit  a  caterer  with  supper.  So  astonished  is  the 
master  of  the  house  that  he  allows  the  man  to  push 
past  him  and  deposit  supper  on  table  without  in- 
terposing. But  suddenly  coming  to  his  senses, 
stops  the  fellow,  as  he  is  leaving  and  questions 
him.  "Yes,  the  Mistress'  orders,  sir."  Mr.  G.'s 
face  grows  dark.  "Take  it  away,"  he  orders,  and 
he  is  obeyed  with  astonishment  and  rapidity.  Mrs. 
G.,  whose  curiosity  has  gotten  the  better  of  her, 


7G  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

has  followed  her  husband  downstairs,  and  has  en- 
tered in  time  to  notice  and  comprehend  what  has 
transpired.  Her  breath  comes  in  short,  defiant 
gasps,  as  she  surveys  her  husband.  He  returns 
the  stare  with  such  interest  that  she  falters,  and, 
turning,  retreats,  leaving  him  in  complete  posses- 
sion of  the  field.  He  follows,  bent  upon  carrying 
out  his  plan  resolved  upon  the  preceding  evening. 
Scene  20— Parlor  again.  Mrs.  Greene  waver- 
ing between  new-born  fear  of  her  husband  and  a 
defiant  indignation  at  his  course  of  proceeding, 
returns  to  her  chair  and  ostensibly  to  her  book. 
Greene  enters,  goes  to  overcoat,  produces  cook 
book  from  pocket,  crosses  to  wife,  asks  her  frigidly 
what  she  is  reading.  She  does  not  reply.  Gently 
but  firmly  he  takes  novel  away  and  lays  cook  book 
in  her  hands.  She  looks  at  it,  and  rises,  her  eyes 
blazing  with  anger.  He  stands  over  her,  ready 
for  hostilities  himself.  She  quails  before  the  look 
in  his  eyes.  In  well-modulated  accents,  and  with 
gestures  to  correspond,  he  informs  her  that  he 
has  made  a  tour  of  the  kitchen  and  that  the  results 
of  said  exploration  were  anything  but  satisfactory, 
etc.,  etc.  He  further  dryly  observes  that  a  dili- 
gent application  to  cook  book  which  he  has  just 
handed  her  will  go  a  long  way  towards  the  acquir- 
ing of  that  domestic  tranquility  and  contentment 
so  desirable  in  the  home  of  all  wedded  young  peo- 
ple. She  sinks  into  chair,  after  apostrophizing 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  •      77 

him  as  a  bully,  and  tries  to  read  the  book,  but 
after  little  effort,  tires  of  occupation  and  throws  it 
away  pettishly  to  one  side.  Greene  imperturbably 
restores  it  to  her  lap,  and  then  unable  to  control 
herself  further,  suggests  that  she  adjourn  to  the 
kitchen  and  prepare  supper.  She  rejects  the 
proposition  with  great  scorn  and  a  mocking  laugh, 
whereupon  Greene  takes  her  up  in  his  arms,  cook 
book  and  all,  and  carries  her  out  of  room  to 
kitchen. 

Scene  £1 — Kitchen  again.  Greene  sets  down  his 
frightened  and  amazed  wife  and  placidly  regards 
her  as  he  tells  her  to  get  supper  ready.  He  doesn't 
care  what  he  eats,  he  says,  but  he  wants  to  see  her 
cook  something.  He  then  takes  up  position  before 
door  to  prevent  any  possibility  of  her  desiring  to 
retire,  and  watches.  First  he  tells  her  she  must 
light  the  fire.  Restraining  her  natural  inclination 
to  sob,  she  goes  through  the  business  of  lighting 
the  fire,  and  succeeds  in  burning  her  hand  in  the 
operation.  Forgetting  her  womanly  dignity  in 
her  pain,  she  runs  to  him,  imploring  sympathy, 
entreating  him  to  caress  the  injured  member.  Un- 
moved, Greene  extracts  from  his  pocket  a  small 
case,  draws  out  a  piece  of  court  plaster  and  smacks 
it  on  her  finger  and  then,  with  heartless  brutality, 
sends  her  back  to  stove,  over  which  she  hovers 
weeping,  and  commences  with  frequent  reference 
to  the  cook  book,  to  prepare  some  mysterious  con- 


78  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

coction,  glancing  from  time  to  time,  at  her  relent- 
less  husband,  whose   face  gradually  takes   on   an 
expression  indicative  of  satisfaction  and  triumph. 
Greene's  course  of  action  has  its  personal 
disadvantages. 

Scene  22 — Dining  room  again.  Greene  seated, 
wife  seated,  both  eating,  or  trying  to  eat  what 
Mrs.  Greene  has  recently  completed.  Greene 
struggles  to  hide  painful  consequences  of  his  heroic 
determination,  while  Mrs.  Greene,  who,  despite 
her  sore  finger  and  sense  of  outraged  pride,  looks 
at  her  husband  with  an  increased  respect,  also 
bravely  endeavors  to  digest  the  mess  for  which  she 
is  responsible.  Both  finish,  with  visible  relief. 
Mrs.  Greene  is  about  to  rise  from  table  and  quit 
the  room  when  a  warning  glance  checks  her,  and 
she  clears  the  table  first,  while  her  husband  lights 
a  cigar.  This  done,  Mrs.  G.,  without  encounter- 
ing any  further  opposition,  prepares  to  go  out. 
Greene  calls  her  softly,  and  when  she  goes  over  to 
him,  he  kisses  her  quite  tenderly,  pats  her  cheek 
and  resumes  his  seat  and  smokes  reflectively.  Mis- 
taking the  little  affectionate  demonstration  for 
signs  of  weakness  on  his  part  and  remorse  of  con- 
science, she  calls  him  a  coward  and  flings  out  of 
room.  He  does  not  resent  the  soft  impeachment, 
but  continues  to  smoke  on  in  evident  enjoyment. 

Scene  23 — Parlor  again.  Mrs.  G.  enters, 
pauses  undecided,  hears  doorbell,  looks  startled, 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  79 

goes  out  to  answer,  reappears  almost  instantly, 
followed  by  sister  and  her  fiance.  In  tears,  Mrs. 
G.  relates  what  has  happened,  to  the  indignation 
and  horror  of  her  listeners,  who  comfort  her,  tell 
her  to  go  upstairs  and  dress  and  they  will  await 
her.  Reassured  somewhat,  she  exits,  leaving  the 
worthy  pair  to  discuss  the  matter  exhaustively. 

Scene  24 — Dining  room  again.  Greene,  down- 
stairs, has  heard  the  bell  ring  and  he  is  now  dis- 
covered in  a  listening  attitude.  He  smiles  as  the 
excited  voices  penetrate  the  dining  room,  and  after 
a  moment's  reflection  and  temporary  indecision 
he  rises  and  goes  out. 

Scene  25 — Parlor  again.  Sister  and  fiance 
warm  over  Mrs.  Greene's  treatment.  Rise  coldly 
as  Greene  enters  and  nods  to  them.  Sister  wants  to 
know  what  his  wife  has  done  to  be  treated  in  such 
a  contumelious  fashion  and  is  backed  up,  none 
too  valorously,  by  her  intended.  Greene  is  about 
to  reply  in  some  heat,  when  his  wife  reappears  in 
evening  dress.  Greene  asks  her  quickly  where  she 
is  going.  She  falters,  with  her  sister.  Greene,  in 
decided  accents,  says  she  will  stay  at  home  tonight. 
Consternation,  and  a  storm  of  objections.  Greene, 
banging  table  fiercely,  wants  to  know  who's  run- 
ning the  house.  All  look  at  each  other  in  great 
alarm.  Sister's  courage  fails  her,  and  she  remarks 
to  her  fiance  that  they  had  better  go.  He  is  quite 
agreeable,  and  sister,  choking  her  emotion  down 


80  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

and  Tdssing  the  tearful  wife,  boldly  declares  Greene 
a  brute,  and  hurriedly  departs,  followed  no  less 
precipitately  by  her  bold  escort,  who  can't  get  out 
quick  enough.  Left  to  themselves,  Mrs.  G.  sobs 
for  some  time,  and  is  ignored  by  her  husband,  who 
disappears  for  a  moment,  to  return  in  smoking 
jacket.  He  lights  pipe,  and,  taking  up  book,  set- 
tles down  for  a  comfortable  evening.  After  Mrs. 
G.  has  wept  herself  dry,  she  steals  several  covert 
glances  at  her  consort,  which  are  not,  it  should  be 
observed,  without  respect  and  even  admiration,  her 
face  softens  and  she  moves  silently  in  his  direction, 
as  though  she  were  inclined  to  make  up.  He  looks 
up  eagerly,  expectantly,  a  trace  of  complacency 
in  his  expression,  which  she  resents,  whereupon  she 
changes  her  mind,  and,  stamping  her  foot  in  a 
rage,  retires. 

Scene  £6 — Hallway,  as  before.  Mrs.  Greene 
rushes  on,  pauses,  stands  listening,  a  penitent  look 
on  her  face.  She  disappears  through  hall. 

Scene  27 — Kitchen  again.     Mrs.  Greene  steals 
in,  possesses  herself  of  cook  book  and  steals  out. 
Effects  of  the  revolution. 

Scene  28 — Scene  in  parlor,  as  before.  Mrs. 
Greene  in  evening  gown,  before  cheery  fire,  read- 
ing book,  two  fingers  swathed  in  bulging  bandages, 
awaiting  with  impatience  her  husband's  return 
from  office.  He  comes  in,  and  she  throws  arms 
about  his  neck.  He  is  surprised  and  pleased  both 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  81 

at  his  reception  and  the  warmth  and  cozy  atmos- 
phere of  the  room.  He  returns  his  wife's  kiss 
heartily.  She  takes  off  his  overcoat,  helps  him  on 
with  his  smoking  jacket,  which  has  been  hung  over 
chair  in  front  of  fire,  and  then  taking  him  by  arm, 
leads  him  off  in  direction  of  the  dining  room,  to 
his  ever-increasing  delight  and  satisfaction. 

Scene  29 — Dining  room  again.  Table  all  laid. 
Several  choice  viands  conspicuous.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
G.  enter.  He  regards  table  in  admiration,  and  un- 
able to  wait,  samples  a  bit  of  food  right  away. 
She  admits  with  blush  of  charming  confusion  that 
she  has  cooked  everything  herself,  holding  up,  as  a 
proof,  her  two  bulkily  bandaged  fingers,  which  he 
seizes  and  presses  to  his  lips.  They  sit  and  eat 
and  he  marvels  at  the  excellence  of  the  cooking. 
She  produces  the  old  cook  book  and  refers  to  its 
being  the  cause.  "And  you,"  she  adds,  hanging 
her  head.  He  reaches  over,  upsetting  a  glass  of 
water  in  his  enthusiasm,  and  kisses  her  noisily. 
After  which  the  meal  progresses  enj  oyably. 
Last  stand  of  the  enemy. 

Scene  SO — Parlor,  as  before.  Husband  and 
wife  entering,  are  startled  by  ring  at  doorbell. 
He  goes  out  and  re-enters  almost  immediately,  fol- 
lowed by  father-in-law,  mother-in-law,  sister-in-law 
and  the  inevitable  attending  knight,  all  with  their 
war  toggery  on.  The  former  pair,  in  burst  of 
righteous  indignation,  demand  an  explanation  of 


82  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

the  preceding  evening's  outrage,  and  hold  their 
welcoming  arms  out  to  her,  expecting  her  to  rush 
into  them  and  pour  out  the  story  of  her  agony  in 
sobs.  But,  to  their  astonishment  and  utter  stupe- 
faction, Greene's  exultation  and  the  bewilderment 
of  the  younger  people,  who  look  particularly  fool- 
ish, Mrs.  G.  gently  expresses  herself  as  having 
been  remiss  in  her  wifely  duties  and  that  she  has 
discovered  her  mistake,  etc.  End  up  by  placing  a 
confiding  hand  in  her  husband's,  whereupon  Greene 
looks  stern  and  requests  to  know  the  meaning  of 
this  unwarrantable  intrusion,  also,  etc.,  etc.  At 
their  wits'  ends,  the  distracted  parents  faintly  ask 
their  daughter  if  she  does  not  wish  to  accompany 
them  out  tonight.  She  shakes  her  head,  a  sweet  no. 
Father-in-law  cautiously  edges  over  to  where 
Greene  is  standing,  and  in  a  whispering  query 
wants  to  know  "how  he  does  it,"  but  hearing  his  be- 
loved wife  call  out  in  an  awful  voice,  "Henry !"  he 
resumes  all  his  former  grandeur  and  pomposity  of 
manner  and  announces  his  readiness  to  retire. 
Greene  smiles  to  himself,  and  mamma,  figuring 
rightly  that  he  is  master  of  the  situation,  pleads 
an  excuse  and  sweeps  haughtily  from  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  her  faithful  spouse,  and  the  young  people, 
who  say  nothing,  but  content  themselves  with  with- 
ering the  happy  couple  with  scornful  looks.  Greene 
sinks  down  into  his  easy  chair  with  a  satisfied 
sigh.  Mrs.  G.  seats  herself  on  stool  at  his  feet, 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 


83 


with  a  merry  little  laugh  and  lights  his  pipe,  the 
pipe  of  peace.     Dissolve  picture. 
FINIS. 


VI 
MANUSCRIPT  PREPARATION 

T7VERY  scenario  must  be  typewritten. 
-•— ^  A  hand- written  script  has  about  as  much 
chance  of  being  read; — let  alone  accepted; 
—as  a  lame  mouse  would  have  in  a  Cats' 
Home.  We  should  always  make  a  carbon 
copy;  or  better  still,  two;  as  the  original 
may  get  lost  and  I  have  always  found  a 
carbon  copy  as  efficacious  as  an  original; 
although  I  have  heard  experts  argue  to  the 
contrary. 

Place  your  full  name  and  address  in  the 
upper  left  hand  corner  of  the  title  page  of 
your  MSS.,  and  place  a  blank  sheet  of  paper 
at  the  back  of  the  MSS.,  thus  ensuring  that 
it  may  be  kept  clean,  and  worthy  to  be  pre- 
sented again  and  again,  if  it  should  prove 
unavailable  to  the  first  scenario  departments 
to  which  you  may  submit  it. 

You  must  always  enclose  a  stamped, 
self-addressed  envelope  with  your  scenario. 

84 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  85 

Do  not  enclose  loose  stamps,  and  expect  the 
scenario  department  to  supply  the  envelope 
for  its  return,  if  the  manuscript  is  unavail- 
able. The  people  in  a  busy  scenario  depart- 
ment have  other  things  to  do  besides 
addressing  envelopes.  You  must  remember 
that  you  are  submitting  your  scenario  un- 
solicited and  at  your  own  risk,  and  that  it  is 
merely  a  courtesy  on  the  part  of  the  editor 
to  return  it  to  you  at  all.  So,  you  should 
make  it  as  convenient  for  him  as  possible. 
He  probably  receives  a  hundred  photoplays 
a  day,  so  try  and  put  yourself  in  his  place. 
If  your'manuscript  gets  lost  or  mislaid,  you 
have  no  legal  redress.  However,  if  a 
stamped,  addressed  envelope  is  enclosed 
there  will  be  little  danger  of  that,  as  great 
care  is  taken  in  all  reputable  scenario  de- 
partments to  have  manuscripts  promptly 
returned  to  writers  when  these  rules  are 
complied  with.  But  if  you  only  enclose 
loose  stamps,  or,  worse  still,  no  stamps  at 
all,  then  you  deserve  to  lose  your  scenario. 
The  chances  are  you  will. 

Do  not  write  long  letters  to  the  scenario 
editors  explaining  that  your  story  is  grip- 
ping, or  true,  or  original,  or  so  full  of  heart- 


86  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

interest  that  the  human  pulse  will  quicken 
with  fire  on  reading  it.  That  will  dub  you 
a  "Dub"  and  you  don't  want  to  be  in  that 
class.  And  if  you  are  of  the  gentle  sex,  do 
not  try  to  curry  favor  with  the  man  in  the 
editorial  chair  by  informing  him  that  this  is 
your  first  effort  at  writing,  but  that  you 
have  real  true  violet  eyes,  and  glorious 
lesliecarterian  hair,  and  a  perfect  36,  and 
enclose  a  snapshot  taken  on  the  beach,  by 
your  best  fellow,  to  prove  it.  It's  a  million 
to  one  the  editor  is  a  married  man,  and  as 
such  would  not  be  in  any  way  interested. 
I  have  seen  such  letters  and  snapshots  re- 
ceived in  scenario  departments,  and  they 
invariably  were  passed  around  and  caused 
much  amusement,  but  the  scenario,  no  mat- 
ter how  good,  would  never  be  considered 
seriously. 

Let  your  scenario  speak  for  itself.  Sub- 
mit it  neatly  typewritten,  double-spaced, 
with  a  clean  sheet  back  and  front ;  your  title 
on  the  outside  front  sheet,  with  your  name 
and  address  in  the  upper  left-hand  corner, 
and  altogether  as  neat  and  workmanlike  as 
possible. 

Every  writer  should  learn  to  use  a  type- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  87 

writer.  I  cannot  too  strongly  advocate  this. 
You  can  teach  yourself.  It  requires  prac- 
tice; that  is  all.  I  know  that  for  several 
years  I  labored  assiduously  with  a  pencil 
and  gave  out  my  efforts  to  be  typed.  It  cost 
me  considerably  more  money  than  I  made 
in  my  first  year  of  writing,  and  considerable 
time  in  correcting  the  mistakes  of  incompe- 
tent stenographers.  I  naturally  tried  to  get 
the  work  done  as  cheaply  as  I  could,  and  I 
got  it.  Cheap,  but  expensive  in  the  end.  I 
ultimately  learned  that  one  must  do  one's 
own  typewriting,  and  you  will  soon  learn 
that,  too.  Experience  teaches.  There  is  no 
other  practical  school. 

I   strongly  advise  writers  to   employ   a 


TF  ffa  little  learning  is  a  dangerous 
-*  thing"  a  lot  of  technique  is  a 
much  more  dangerous  thing.  Inas- 
much as  every  studio  has  its  own  dif- 
ferent sort  of  technique,  why  should 
you,  a  writer  on  the  outside,  bother 
your  head  about  learning  a  universal 
technique?  There  isnt  any. 


88 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 


black  and  red  ribbon  in  typewriting  their 
'scripts;  and  to  plant  all  subtitles  and  in- 
serts of  whatever  nature  in  red,  so  that  they 
will  stand  out  clearly  and  will  be  easy  for  the 
directors  to  follow. 


VII 
KINDS  OF  STORIES  TO  WRITE 

/^NE-REEL  comedy-dramas  are  nearly 
^-^  always  in  strong  demand,  and  those 
with  original  plots  and  which  hold  a  number 
of  good  comedy  situations,  will  not  go  long 
a-begging.  Remember,  it  is  the  situation 
that  makes  for  real  comedy  and  not  foolish, 
childish  acting,  such  as  has  been  indulged 
in  so  freely  in  the  past  and  of  which  the 
public  has  now  become  tired  and  disgusted. 
Embarrassing  situations  from  which 
there  appears  no  means  of  escape  always 
bring  a  laugh,  and  if  the  person  embarrassed 
can  extricate  himself  or  herself  from  such 
a  situation  with  ingenuity,  then  another 
laugh  is  provoked  and  the  actor  immediately 
gains  the  sympathy  and  good- will  of  the 
audience.  Therefore,  think  up  all  such 
situations  you  possibly  can  and  embody 
them  in  your  comedy  scenario.  But  in 
framing  these  situations  bear  in  mind  that 
the  refined  in  humor  is  worth  much  more 
than  the  rough. 

89 


90  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Never  plant  a  "suggestive"  situation  in 
your  comedy.  Make  it  your  aim  and  object 
to  keep  the  moving  picture  screen  as  clean 
and  healthful  as  possible. 

Next  to  comedy-dramas  good  one-reel 
melodramas  with  a  strong  "heart  interest" 
are  mostly  in  demand,  but  they  must  not 
be  too  enervating  or  cast  in  too  sordid  sur- 
roundings. The  public  wants  "thrills"  and 
wrill  gladly  pay  to  get  them,  and  the  author 
who  can  provide  them  will  find  a  ready  mar- 
ket for  his  efforts. 

But  do  not  confine  yourself  entirely  to 
one-reel  melodramas.  If  your  story  is 
strong  enough  to  carry  itself  into  70  scenes 
or  more,  then,  by  all  means,  work  it  out  to 
its  logical  conclusion ;  but  do  not  try  to  pad 
it  out.  Far  better  evolve  a  strong  one-reel 
dramatic  scenario,  for  which  you  will  find 
an  early  acceptance,  than  to  dilute  your 
offering  to  a  semblance  of  weakness. 
Watered  stock  is  hard  to  sell. 

Good  "Western"  dramas  and  comedies 
are  always  in  demand,  but  should  be  sub- 
mitted to  companies  who  are  working  in  a 
Western  field.  Leave  "Costume"  plays 
alone.  The  American  public  does  not  want 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  91 

them,  and  you  must  aim  to  give  the  public 
what  it  wants.  Good  American  stories, 
with  up-to-date  costuming.  That's  what  the 
public  wants. 

It  is  impossible  to  inform  readers  of  the 
actual  requirements  of  the  various  produc- 
ing companies,  because  they  are  so  apt  to 
change  in  their  policy  every  once  in  a  while, 
and  writers  must  take  their  chance  in  sub- 
mitting scripts  to  one  and  the  other,  using 
all  the  discretion  in  their  power.  Every 
scenario  writer  has  had  to  face  the  same 
difficulties  with  which  you  will  have  to  con- 
tend, and  the  path  of  a  writer  is  never  an 
easy  one,  though  it  is  always  open  to  those 
who  have  the  determination  and  the  neces- 
sary gray-matter  to  stick  to  the  thorny  trail. 


TF  you  know  how  to  write  a  clever 
-*  one-reel  comedy-drama  you  need 
not  fear  that  your  manuscript  will  go 
a-begging.  That  is  one  of  the  most 
difficult  of  photoplays  for  the  pro- 
ducing companies  to  get  hold  of,  and 
they  are  ready  to  pay  with  liberality. 


92  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

With  brain  and  determination  you  can 
accomplish  anything,  but  one  without  the 
other  will  only  lead  to  a  blind  road. 

Never  attempt  to  depict  allegorical 
visions,  Scriptural  visions  or  any  visions 
whatever  which  savor  of  the  unreal.  Some 
directors  have  attempted  them  from  time  to 
time,  with  lamentable  effects.  Let  them  do 
it,  if  they  will.  Let  them  bear  the  ridicule 
that  such  things  invariably  invoke. 

A  chorus  girl  in  a  chiffon  "nightie,"  with 
tinsel  wings,  a  gilt  wand  and  a  halo,  can 
never  resemble  a  genuine  angel,  no  matter 
how  beautiful  she  may  be.  Leave  "alle- 
gorical visions"  alone,  and  stick  to  up-to- 
date,  logical,  practical,  everyday  happenings 
and  facts  in  your  writing  of  photoplays. 
Be  human — and,  above  all,  be  clean  and 
moral  in  everything  to  which  you  append 
your  signature. 

Never  build  a  story  on  Biblical  or  his- 
torical events.  The  basis  for  such  will  not 
be  reckoned  original,  and  it  is  only  for  abso- 
lutely original  subjects  there  is  an  outside 
market.  All  other  sorts  are  handled  by  the 
staff -writers,  and  you  do  not  want  to  waste 
your  time,  stamps,  and  paper. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  93 

Do  not  attempt  to  write  "slapstick 
comedies;"  they  are  invariably  fixed  up  by 
the  director  who  is  producing  that  style  of 
comedy,  and,  as  a  rule,  do  not  need  any 
definite  plot.  Besides,  the  so-called  "Slap- 
sticks" are  getting  out  of  favor.  The  public 
has  been  surfeited  with  them  and  they  will 
soon,  happily,  disappear  altogether. 

Clean  society  comedy  and  drama  are 
greatly  in  demand.  The  patrons  of  the 
moving  picture  theaters  are  growing  tired 
of  "Kitchen  Settings"  and  "Regenerated 
Crooks," — also  of  "Dying  Mothers,  Sick 
Children,  and  Drunken  Fathers." 

Avoid  murders,  suicides,  burglaries,  and 
other  delightful  crimes,  even  should  you 
aim  to  make  them  teach  a  moral  lesson  by 
evolving  dire  and  suitable  punishments  to 
fit  them. 

And  above  all,  avoid  everything  ques- 
tionable or  immoral.  The  moving  picture 
screen  must  be  kept  clean. 

It  is  inadvisable  to  write  on  subjects  of 
which  you  are  not  thoroughly  conversant, 
or  of  peoples  or  countries  with  which  you 
are  unfamiliar. 

Do  not  waste  your  time  evolving  "War 


94  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Stories."  There  is  no  demand  for  them. 
There  is  enough  of  them  in  the  news- 
papers, and  you  can't  beat  realities. 

Stick  to  American  subjects.  The  United 
States  is  a  big  country  and  embraces  every 
requirement  in  the  way  of  atmosphere  and 
types  of  peoples.  Lay  your  scenes  in  the 
cities  and  localities  with  which  you  are 
/amiliar.  Make  your  stories  ring  true.  Did 
you  ever  see  a  single  production  made  in 
the  United  States  in  which  the  scenes  and 
characters  were  supposed  to  be  European 
that  wasn't  the  biggest  kind  of  a  joke?  To 
those  of  us  who  have  traveled,  they  are 
always  pitiable,  and  on  a  par  with  the 
"Western-Cowboy-Indian"  pictures  pro- 
duced in  France!  Do  you  remember  them? 
Weren't  they  delicious? 

Photoplays  intended  for  production  in 
the  Summer  should  be  written  and  sub- 
mitted in  the  Spring;  and  should  be  mainly 
"exterior"  scenes; — beaches,  parks,  and 
other  pretty  locations.  Make  use  of  the 
natural  beauties  of  nature  whenever  pos- 
sible. Winter  and  Christmas  stories  should 
be  submitted  in  the  Fall,  and  in  Winter 
stories  you  must  depend  largely  on  "in- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  95 

terior"  studio  settings; — for  obvious  rea- 
sons. Always  figure  in  advance.  To  submit 
a  Summer  story  in  August  is  waste  of  time 
and  energy,  because  by  the  time  the  story 
would  be  under  consideration  /for  produc- 
tion it  would  most  probably  be  October,  and 
the  beautiful  beach  scenes  you  had  so  care- 
fully arranged  for  would  be  impossible  to 
produce  until  the  following  Summer,  and 
no  film  producing  companies  contract  for 
stories  so  far  ahead  as  that. 

Do  not  try  and  evolve  a  photoplay  from 
any  magazine  story  you  may  have  read. 
That  is  not  playing  the  game,  and  there 
will  be  certain  to  be  others  who  are  doing 
it  and  the  plot  of  the  story  will  be  hackneyed 


&TAND  guard  over  your  plot  if 
^  you  have  an  original  one!  Be 
careful  to  whom  you  submit  it.  Do 
not  whisper  it  in  confidence,  even  to 
your  best  friend.  An  original  plot 
for  a  photoplay  means  big  money 
these  days  and  gains  in  value  every 
day — if  you  market  it  first. 


96  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

before  you  have  sent  it  in.  There  are  too 
many  writers  doing  that  kind  of  thing,  and 
that  is  one  reason  why  some  film  producing 
companies  are  loath  to  accept  photoplays 
from  unknown  writers.  They  may  be  pur- 
chasing the  basis  for  a  law  suit,  because  the 
magazine  writers  and  publishers  are  watch- 
ing the  film  releases  very  closely  now,  in  the 
hope  of  catching  a  stolen  plot,  and  soaking 
a  film  producing  company  with  good  mone)7 
at  its  back.  That  is  one  reason  why  staff 
writers  and  readers  are  employed. 

The  day  of  adaptations  is  rapidly  pass- 
ing, and  the  free-lance  scenario  writer  is 
going  to  find  an  ever  increasing  market  for 
his  original  photoplays. 

No  less  an  authority  than  Mr.  W.  E. 
Shallenberger,  the  able  Vice-President  of 
the  Thanhouser  Syndicate  Corporation,  and 
owner  of  numerous  moving  picture  houses, 
has  voiced  his  views  on  the  matter  in  the 
daily  press,  and  there  is  no  man  in  the  world 
better  able  to  gauge  the  sentiment  and  de- 
mand of  the  paying  public.  He  has  an- 
nounced in  a  public  interview,  as  follows: 

"I  think  that  the  conversion  of  plays 
written  for  the  spoken  drama  and  of  books 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  97 

written  not  to  be  visualized  into  multiple 
reel  features,  but  solely  to  be  read,  has  been 
overdone.  Because  I  believe  the  motion  pic- 
ture industry  is  based  on  an  art  inherently 
and  absolutely  distinct  from  the  art  of  the 
spoken  drama  or  from  the  art  of  pantomime. 
The  really  good  screen  play  is  the  play  writ- 
ten by  trained  screen  play  writers  especially 
for  that  most  uncharitable  thing  in  the 
world,  the  motion  picture  camera.  The 
silent  drama  needs  and  deserves  to  have 
highly  trained  and  well  paid  specialists  writ- 
ing for  it.  They  should  be  in  step  with  big 
affairs." 

There  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  in  the 
near  future  there  will  be  an  enormous  de- 
mand for  original  scenarios  especially  writ- 
ten for  film  production.  The  public  is 
clamoring  for  logical  stories,  replete  with 
human  interest  and  full  of  action  and  sus- 
pense. They  want  to  see  natural,  beautiful 
settings;  fine,  substantial  stage  settings, 
and,  above  all,  good,  clean  comedies  that 
do  not  depend  on  foolish  acting  or  vulgarity 
to  win  their  favor. 


VIII 
SCENARIOS    PRODUCERS    WANT 

TN  the  July  (1916)  issue  Photoplay  Mag- 
-*•  azine  published  letters  from  three  noted 
scenario  chiefs — Frank  E.  Woods  of  the 
Fine  Arts  Studio,  Harry  R.  Durant  of  the 
Famous  Players,  and  Colonel  Jasper  E. 
Brady  of  Vitagraph — telling  what  the  com- 
panies do  and  do  not  want  in  scenarios  and 
plays. 

Mr.  Frank  E.  Woods  wrote: 

"We  have  found,  in  this  studio,  com- 
paratively little  value  in  elaborately  worked 
out  motion  picture  plays,  and  for  the  practi- 
cal purposes  of  our  production  we  prefer 
narrative  stories,  unless  the  writer  can  be 
present  during  the  preparation  of  the  script 
for  the  picture. 

"The  writer  of  a  motion  picture  play  who 
is  unaquainted  with  the  studio  conditions  of 
the  company  to  whom  he  has  submitted  his 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  99 

manuscript,  is  almost  certain  to  involve  his 
story  in  difficulties  which  are  impossible  to 
overcome  if  his  manuscript  should  be  fol- 
lowed, and  if  the  best  results  are  to  be  se- 
cured. Each  studio,  no  matter  where 
located,  is  subject  to  local  and  production 
conditions  that  differ  from  other  studios. 
There  are  many  things  to  consider  of  which 
the  free  lance  picture  story  writer  must  be 
ignorant.  The  types  of  players  to  portray 
certain  characters  must  be  available;  the 
settings  or  backgrounds  may  be  impossible 
to  secure,  or  may  be  far  too  expensive  in 
one  studio,  while  they  might  be  cheaply  had 
at  others ;  the  element  of  time  in  which  the 
picture  must  be  produced  must  sometimes 
enter  into  consideration;  the  peculiar 
capacity  of  the  director  to  whom  the  picture 
is  assigned,  must  be  taken  into  question;  in 
short  these  and  other  conditions  are  so 
numerous  and  important  that  when  it  comes 
to  taking  a  script,  no  matter  how  well  pre- 
pared by  an  expert  author  who  has  perhaps 
mailed  it  in  from  a  distance,  and  turning  it 
over  to  a  director  to  produce,  there  at  once 
arise  necessities  for  making  changes — and 
like  knocking  down  ten-pins,  one  change  in- 


100  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

volves  another,  until  the  script  becomes  a 
tangled  skein  of  thread  not  easily  unraveled. 

"Of  course  there  may  be  exceptions  to 
this  general  rule,  but  I  cannot  say  that  I 
recall  any  in  our  experience  here.  Our  best 
success  with  outside  writers  who  offer  stories 
to  us  for  sale,  and  who  are  capable  of  pre- 
paring working  scripts,  has  been  when  the 
author  could  confer  with  the  director  and 
our  scenario  and  production  departments 
during  the  preparation  of  the  manuscript. 
In  each  of  such  cases  the  result  has  been 
excellent.  The  author  has  been  satisfied 
and  aided  in  the  development  of  his  story, 
while  the  director  has  not  been  given  the 
opportunity  or  incentive  to  make  any  radical 
changes,  such  as  are  often  complained  of 
by  motion  picture  playwrights. 

"Although  we  have  a  considerable  staff 
of  writers  in  our  scenario  department,  we 
are  always  desirous  of  securing  good  stories 
from  outside.  If  we  buy  so  little,  it  is  be- 
cause out  of  the  mass  of  material  that  is 
being  constantly  offered  we  find  so  little 
that  is  adaptable  to  our  peculiar  wants. 
Everything  we  receive  is  carefully  read,  in 
the  hope  of  finding  somewhere  a  diamond  in 


PHOTOPLAY  WHITING  '101 

the  rough ;  occasionally  we  find  one,  but  not 
often. 

"In  order  that  photoplay  writers  may 
have  a  general  idea  of  the  character  of  stories 
we  mostly  desire,  I  will  say  that  first  they 
should  consider  the  peculiar  qualities  of  the 
stars  attached  to  our  studio.  These  stars 
and  leading  people  at  present  are  as  follows : 
De  Wolf  Hopper,  Douglas  Fairbanks,  Mae 
Marsh  and  Bobby  Harron,  Lillian  Gish, 
Dorothy  Gish  and  Owen  Moore,  Norma 
Talmadge,  Wilfred  Lucas,  Tully  Marshall, 
Seena  Owen,  Fay  Tincher,  Bessie  Love, 
Olga  Grey,  and  Constance  Talmadge. 
Usually  two  or  three  of  these  players  may 
appear  in  one  picture.  You  will  perceive 


1DREVITY,  snap  and  clearness 
*-*  are  the  chief  characteristics  of 
the  properly  written  photoplay 
synopsis,  and  not  the  least  impor- 
tant of  these  three  requirements  is 
brevity.  Remember  that  a  scenario 
editor  has  to  examine  hundreds  of 
manuscripts  daily. 


102-  PKOTOPLAY  WRITING 

that  the  ingenue  star  predominates,  and  we 
are  therefore  always  in  need  of  stories  in 
which  the  young  girl  is  the  principal  charac- 
ter. Our  requirements  for  Mr.  Hopper  and 
Mr.  Fairbanks  are  quite  obvious,  as  their 
peculiar  qualifications  are  too  well  known 
to  require  explanation. 

"The  next  point  for  the  author  to  con- 
sider is  the  theme  of  the  story.  Each  story 
should  have  an  idea  in  it  greater  than 
merely  an  interesting  series  of  events.  It 
should  have  a  central  thought  or  purpose, 
not  necessarily  heavy.  I  do  not  think  the 
public  likes  to  think  that  it  is  being  preached 
to,  or  obviously  taught;  these  elements  in  a 
story  should  be  incidental.  Generally 
speaking,  the  -author  should  endeavor  to  so 
construct  his  story  that  when  the  picture  is 
shown  on  the  screen  it  will  cause  the  specta- 
tors to  love  or  hate  the  characters  as  the 
case  may  be,  and  therefore  care  what  may 
happen  to  them  as  the  story  unfolds.  It 
has  been  my  experience  that  tragic  and  de- 
pressing stories  have  no  popular  appeal, 
although  they  may  be  artistically  superior. 

"Historical  or  'period'  stories  are  not 
especially  desirable,  -on  account  of  the  dif- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  103 

ficulties  of  costuming  and  settings.  We 
might,  however,  accept  stories  that  come 
under  this  class,  if  they  have  sufficient  at- 
tractiveness ;  but  as  a  general  rule  we  prefer 
modern  dramas,  comedy  dramas,  or  melo- 
dramas. 

"One  of  the  chief  obstacles  to  the  con- 
sideration of  outside  stories  has  been  the 
idea  among  the  authors  who  have  submitted 
their  material,  that  they  must  give  us  tre- 
mendous subjects  that  would  require  for- 
tunes to  produce.  Owing  to  Mr.  Griffith's 
great  reputation — especially  since  his  pro- 
duction of  'The  Birth  of  a  Nation' — a  great 
many  writers,  among  them  some  of  the  best 
in  the  country,  are  eager  to  duplicate  that 
epoch-making  motion  picture.  You  can 
very  well  understand  that  such  stories  are 
scarcely  ever  possible  for  us  to  consider.  It 
took  Mr.  Griffith  more  than  a  year  from  the 
time  he  decided  to  produce  'The  Birth  of  a 
Nation'  and  commenced  the  preliminary 
preparation  until  it  was  finished.  H*e  has 
been  at  work  on  his  present  picture  nearly  a 
year  and  a  half,  and  there  is  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  any  picture  he  may  make  can 
be  finished  in  less  than  a  year's  time,  There 


104  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

is  only  one  D.  W.  Griffith — at  least  up  to 
the  present  time.  And  if  there  were  an- 
other, and  we  had  him  among  our  staff  of 
directors,  we  could  not  produce  pictures  of 
that  character  or  quality  in  five  reels  and 
on  a  weekly  program.  Mr.  Griffith  merely 
supervises  Fine  Arts  productions  in  a  gen- 
eral way.  The  actual  work  of  the  produc- 
tion itself  must  necessarily  be  in  the 
immediate  hands  of  our  staff  of  producing 
directors,  with  the  assistance  and  co-opera- 
tion of  our  scenario  and  producing  depart- 
ments. While,  therefore,  we  are  glad  to 
have  big  subjects,  we  would  caution  writers 
not  to  treat  them  in  anything  like  the 
magnificent  way  in  which  they  would  ex- 
pect to  see  a  'Birth  of  a  Nation'  produced." 

Mr.  H.  R.  Durant  of  Famous  Players: 
"With  interest  in  the  motion  picture  in- 
creasing steadily,  and  particularly  in  the 
motion  picture  plot  and  story,  advice  to 
photoplay  authors  can  be  found  in  num- 
berless newspapers  and  magazines,  not  to 
mention  those  publications  devoted  ex- 
clusively to  the  films.  This  advice,  how- 
ever, on  the  whole  is  general,  and  any  plan 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  105 

to  give  authors  specific  information  as  to  the 
various  markets  for  their  wares  should  be  of 
help  not  only  to  the  author  but  to  the  motion 
picture  manufacturer  as  well. 

"Briefly,  we  are  at  present  purchasing 
only  ideas  for  five-reel  feature  pictures 
which  are  American  in  setting,  which  deal 
with  modern  characters  and  conditions,  and 
which,  above  all,  are  original  in  theme  and 
contain  a  big  underlying  proposition  or 
motive,  the  whole  cemented  by  a  strong  love 
interest.  The  leading  role  must  suit  one  of 
our  women  stars — Mary  Pickford,  Mar- 
guerite Clark,  Pauline  Frederick,  et  cetera. 
Society  and  comedy  dramas  are  particularly 
desired. 

"Writing  a  five-reel  feature  is  not,  by  any 
means,  a  simple  task.  You  will  more  readily 
realize  this  fact  when  you  stop  to  consider 
that  the  film  of  a  five-reeler  is  approximately 
one  mile  in  length,  contains  from  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  to  two  hundred  and  fifty 
scenes,  and  consumes  one  hour  and  fifteen 
minutes  on  the  screen. 

"In  other  words,  the  plot  must  be  replete 
with  entertaining  situations,  the  characters 
must  be  human  beings,  and  the  suspense  and 


106  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

denouement  must  be  so  handled  by  the 
action  that  the  audience  will  be  interested 
up  to  the  last  foot  of  film.  Merely  a  series 
of  incidents  or  episodes  in  the  life  of  a 
character  or  group  of  characters  is  not 
enough.  There  must  be  a  logical  progres- 
sion of  events  leading  up  to  the  one  big 
climax  of  the  picture. 

"Strange  as  it  may  seem,  fully  seventy- 
five  per  cent,  of  the  successful  novels  as 
written  are  unsuitable  for  feature  material. 
Why  ?  Mainly  because  they  do  not  contain 
sufficient  action.  And  for  this  reason  fiction 
authors  of  wide  reputation  fail  continually 
as  photoplay  authors — they  do  not  under- 
stand that  words  and  atmosphere,  charac- 


1TJEING  Logical  is  one  of  the  most 
*-*  important  virtues  in  the  photo- 
playwriting  field.  The  public  is  gen- 
erally shrewd.  What  Barnum  said 
about  its  liking  to  be  fooled  is  grow- 
ing rapidly  less  true.  An  illogical 
plot  is  an  imposition,  and  impositions 
are  boomerangs. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  107 

terization  and  description,  do  not  spell 
screen  action. 

"In  writing  a  five-reel  feature  plot  very 
much  the  same  procedure  might  be  employed 
as  in  planning  a  five-part  magazine  serial. 
Magazine  editors  and  authors  know  the 
importance  of  the  'curtain'  at  the  end  of 
each  instalment — the  dramatic  scene  split  in 
two,  followed  by  the  usual  'To  Be  Contin- 
ued' notice,  which  rouses  the  interest  and 
curiosity  of  the  reader  to  the  extent  of  pur- 
chasing the  next  issue — and  authors  should 
recognize  the  equal  importance  of  big  scenes 
and  situations  in  the  picture  plot.  Conflict, 
struggle,  tense  moments,  amusing  incidents 
to  relieve  the  monotony — that  is  what  the 
picture-goer  wants  to  see  in  the  neighbor- 
hood 'movie'  theatre,  and  that  is  what  we 
have  to  supply. 

"What  sort  of  material  do  we  not  want? 
you  ask. 

"We  are  not  interested  in  stories  dealing 
in  any  way  with  war — the  public  has  been 
surfeited  with  this  phase  of  history  through 
the  newspapers.  Nor  are  we  buying  ideas 
which  have  to  do  with  labor  problems,  poli- 
tics, or  dual  roles.  We  are  not  in  the  mar- 


108  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

ket  for  costume  plays  or  plots  which  are 
foreign  as  to  locale,  atmosphere  and  charac- 
ters. We  do  not  desire  ideas  in  which  drugs, 
liquor  or  vice  play  a  conspicuous  part;  and 
at  the  present  writing  we  are  not  buying 
stories  calling  for  male  stars.  Plots  which 
have  an  unpleasant  ending  do  not  appeal  to 
us.  The  faith  of  the  world  is  that  everything 
is  going  to  come  out  all  right  in  the  end; 
so  why  not  stick  to  this  theory  in  the  motion 
picture  ? 

"Now  as  regards  the  form  in  which  to 
submit  material:  Do  not  send  us  complete 
working  scripts  of  your  plots — that  is,  the 
technical  scenario  which  maps  out  the  action 
scene  by  scene.  All  we  ask  for  is  a  detailed 
synopsis,  two  or  three  thousand  words  in 
length,  outlining  the  story.  Our  working 
scenarios  are  prepared  in  our  own  office  by 
masters  in  this  art,  for  experience  has  taught 
us  that  scripts  from  the  average  photoplay- 
wright,  who  knows  little  oy  nothing  of  studio 
conditions  and  the  limitations  of  the  camera, 
are  worthless  as  such.  Also,  please  do  not 
submit  plays,  books  or  complete  manuscripts 
of  novels  or  novelettes,  as  we  have  not  the 
time  to  wade  through  them.  Send  us  only 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  109 

synopses,  and  if  we  are  then  interested,  we 
may  ask  for  the  play  or  book,  provided  the 
story  exists  in  either  of  these  forms. 

"Unavailable  ideas  are  usually  returned 
within  a  week  after  their  receipt,  but  occa- 
sionally wre  become  deluged  with  scripts  and 
are  unable  to  adhere  to  this  plan.  Plots 
which  have  possibilities  are  held  for  further 
consideration.  In  any  event,  we  do  our  best 
to  render  decisions  within  a  fortnight  at  the 
latest,  and  we  pay  the  market  price  imme- 
diately upon  acceptance. 

"Authors  should  know  that  familiarity 
with  the  scenario  market  is  half  of  the 
photoplaywright's  game.  To  mail  scripts 
blindly  to  the  film  manufacturers,  regard- 
less of  their  requirements,  is  the  height  of 
foolishness.  While  you  are  peddling  your 
plot  at  random,  a  wiser  scenario  author  may 
be  writing  the  same  general  idea  for  some 
particular  market,  with  the  result  that  he 
beats  you  to  it  and  your  plot  is  rendered 
worthless. 

"You  can't  sell  a  mowing  machine  to  a 
butcher,  nor  a  single-reel  picture  to  a  com- 
pany that  produces  only  five-reel  features. 
Watch  the  trade  publications  and  learn  the 


110  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

specific  needs  of  the  film  manufacturers. 
Then  offer  your  goods  to  the  proper  market 
and  you  are  certain  to  get  results,  provided, 
of  course,  your  stuff  is  salable. 

"In  conclusion,  writers  should  know  that 
if  an  idea  will  not  make  a  good  novel  of 
70,000  words  or  a  good  four-act  play  for  the 
legitimate  istage  when  worked  out  properly, 
the  same  idea  is  not  big  enough  for  a  five- 
reel  photoplay.  This  is  an  important  thing 
to  consider.  That  authors  are  not  consider- 
ing it  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  out  of 
the  mass  of  material  which  is  submitted  to 
us  we  purchase  only  one-half  of  one  per 
centr 

Colonel  Jasper  E wing  Brady  wrote : 
"The  Vitagraph  is  in  the  market  for  good 
one-reel  comedies,  and  three,  four  and  five- 
reel  dramas.  We  do  not  want  costume  stuff, 
and  a  military  play  would  have  to  be  of  sterl- 
ing worth  to  get  a  hearing.  If  the  various 
authors  and  would-be  authors  would  send  a 
commonsense  synopsis  with  their  scripts  they 
would  get  a  great  deal  quicker  consideration. 
"I  make  it  a  point  never  to  hold  a  script 
longer  than  a  week  at  the  most.  I  know 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  111 

this  has  not  always  been  the  case,  but  it  is 
now  and  will  continue  as  long  as  I  am  in 
charge  of  the  scenario  department.  My 
theory  is  that  an  author  honors  us  when  he 
or  she  sends  us  a  script.  Perhaps  their  liv- 
ing depends  on  their  writings.  If  that  is  so, 
it  is  but  right  that  they  should  have  prompt 
action,  either  for  or  against.  I  think  you 
will  find  that  the  day  has  gone  by  when  a 
company  can  hold  a  script  as  long  as  it 
pleases  and  pay  for  it  when  it  pleases.  Good 
scripts  are  too  scarce  to  have  any  foolish- 
ness along  these  lines. 

"Comedies  are  the  hardest  things  to  get- 
good,  bright  one  reelers  with  a  story  run- 
ning through  their  foolery.  I  wrant  stuff 


llME  was,,  not  long  ago,  when 
-*  producing  directors  paid  almost 
no  attention  to  the  actual  cost  of 
filming  a  photoplay.  That  time  has 
passed.  The  relation  between  pro- 
duction cost  and  probable  profits  is 
being  more  carefully  scrutinized 
daily.  Bear  this  in  mind. 


112  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

for  Frank  Daniels,  Billy  Dangman  and 
Hughie  Mack,  and  the  Vitagraph  will  pay 
well  for  it. 

"Some  days  we  receive  as  high  as  three 
and  four  hundred  scripts,  and  many  times 
not  one  is  found  acceptable.  After  a  big 
murder  case  or  some  startling  crime  the 
mails  are  overburdened  with  scripts  dealing 
with  it  in  eveiy  conceivable  form.  I  won- 
der if  the  public  do  not  realize  we  are  onto 
our  jobs,  and  that  our  staff  writers  are  look- 
ing for  such  things? 

"The  necessity  for  the  trained  scenario 
writer  is  here — but  he  has  not  reached  the 
top  of  his  earning  power.  That  time  is 
coming — and  coming  with  the  speed  of  a 
prairie  fire— which,  you  will  admit,  is  some 
speed.  It  takes  a  peculiar  combination  to 
make  a  good  scenario  writer,  and  few  have 
the  necessary  qualifications." 

Of  intense  interest  to  writers  of  scenarios 
is  an  announcement  made  by  Jesse  L.  Lasky 
of  a  new  departure  by  the  Lasky  Feature 
Play  Company  in  the  examination  of  manu- 
scripts submitted. 

Mr.    Lasky's    announcement    is    in    the 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  113 

nature  of  a  heavy-artillery  answer  to  all 
those  who  have  attacked  and  criticised  his 
recent  and  widely  circulated  article  to  the 
effect  that  the  art  of  motion-picture  pro- 
ducing was  not  advancing,  because  of  the 
failure  of  novelists,  dramatists  and  sce- 
narioists  to  provide  good  stories  for  filming. 
Now  Mr.  Lasky  comes  out  with  the 
announcement  that  he  has  established  a 
scenario  department  intended  to  do  away 
with  as  many  as  possible  of  the  evils  exist- 
ing between  authors  and  producers.  Briefly, 
Mr.  Lasky  promises : 

1.  That  all  material  submitted  will  get 
quick  consideration  and  if  not  acceptable 
will  be  returned  to  the  author  with  "a  very 
carefully    written    constructive     criticism" 
pointing  out  the  reasons  why  the  story  was 
not  worth  purchasing. 

2.  If  the  story  contains  an  idea  worth 
developing,  Lasky  agrees  to  collaborate  with 
the  author  for  its  development  into  such 
form  as  will  justify  Lasky  in  paying  a  good 
price  for  it. 

3.  Hector  Turnbull,   formerly  dramatic 
critic  on  the  New  York  Tribune,  has  been 
engaged  to  head  the  new  scenario  depart- 


114  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

ment  and  to  devote  all  of  his  time  to 
encouraging  and  assisting  authors. 

4.  Lasky  is  ready  to  pay  well  for  ideas 
submitted  in  synopsis  form. 

If  authors  will  respond  to  this  proposal 
as  earnestly  as  Mr.  Lasky  has  made  it,  if 
looks  as  though  the  sun  ought  to  shine  365 
days  in  the  year  in  at  least  one  sector  of  the 
scenario  horizon. 


IX 
MAKING  THE  GAME  PAY 

NOW,  all  free-lance  scenario  writers,  be- 
sides being  anxious  to  gain  all  knowl- 
edge they  can  of  technique  and  the  proper 
form  in  which  to  submit  their  plays,  are  also 
vitally  interested  in  learning  the  best  and 
easiest  way  of  marketing  them.  There  is 
no  easy  way.  There  are  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  people  writing  photoplays,  and 
there  is  a  very  limited  market. 

If  you  have  been  lured  by  "The  Call  of 
the  Pen,"  do  not  be  discouraged  if  your 
initial  efforts  have  not  been  crowned  with 
success.  They  seldom  are.  But  the  need 
for  good  photoplays  is  growing  stronger 
every  day,  and  it  is  worth  your  while  to  bend 
all  your  energies  to  perfect  yourself  in  the 
writing  of  them.  Don't  waste  your  spare 
time.  An  hour  or  two  spent  in  front  of  your 
typewriter,  with  your  thinking-cap  on,  may 
eventually  land  you  in  a  pleasant  and  lucra- 

115 


116  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

tive  position.  It  has  for  others.  Why  not 
for  you? 

They  claim  all  around  that  the  film  com- 
panies are  finding  it  more  difficult  every  day 
to  procure  good  original  photoplays. 

I  don't  suppose  the  free-lance  writers  who 
are  having  their  scenarios  steadily  rejected 
will  agree  with  them  in  this.  And  the  free- 
lance writers  are  right.  They  represent  the 
big  mass  of  the  people  who  patronize  the 
moving  picture  theatres  and  who  study  the 
pictures  on  the  screen,  and  if  more  serious 
attention  were  paid  to  them  by  the  real  heads 
of  the  film-producing  companies  more  orig- 
inal stories  would  be  the  result. 

At  the  present,  as  in  the  past,  there  are 
too  many  producing  organizations  in  which 
the  directors  have  it  all  their  own  way,  and 
are  either  writing  the  majority  of  the  stories 
themselves — glorying  in  seeing  their  own 
names  on  the  screen  both  as  authors  and 
directors — or  else  are  having  the  stories  writ- 
ten by  their  office  or  neighborhood  intimates, 
wofully  ignoring  the  fact  that  neither  they 
nor  their  friends  possess  any  novel  idea  or 
original  plot,  or  are  in  the  slightest  way 
qualified  to  deal  with  the  amazing  subjects 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

they  frequently  choose.  I  make  this  state- 
ment deliberately,  at  the  same  time  bearing 
in  mind  the  very  few  producers  who  are 
encouraging  a  new  school  of  authors,  and 
the  few  others  who  are  endeavoring  to  screen 
reputable  stage  dramas.  These  worthy 
manufacturers  are,  I  regret  to  say,  sadly  in 
the  minority,  and  in  company  after  company 
the  authority-drunk  director  is  grinding  out 
his  vapid,  worthless  plays  like  so  much  lirik- 
sausage ! 

The  scenario  editors  and  staff -writers 
cannot  raise  their  voices  in  protest,  because 
they  have  to  kow-tow  to  the  directors.  If 
they  did  not  hold  the  good  will  of  the  direct- 
ors they  would  not  hold  their  positions  for 
any  length  of  time.  This  state  of  affairs  has 
continued  since  the  inception  of  film  pro- 
ductions, and  with  all  that  has  been  written 
on  the  subject  the  real  state  of  affairs  has 
not  been  voiced  by  writers  on  the  scenario 
staffs. 

All  this,  you  may  say,  is  irrelevant  to 
"Hints  on  Photoplay  Writing,"  but  I  have 
received  so  many  wails  from  disgruntled 
scenario  writers  who  complain  that  there 
appears  to  be  such  a  small  demand  for 


118  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

original  photoplays,  that  I  feel  it  to  be  my 
honest  duty  to  encourage  them  not  to  throw 
up  the  sponge.  The  motion  picture  in- 
dustry is  going  through  a  certain  phase,  that 
is  all, — a  mere  "try-out"  of  something  new, 
for  which  some  manufacturers  are  paying 
heavily,  and  is,  therefore,  bound  to  be  short 
lived. 

I  had  one  one-reel  comedy  that  I  sub- 
mitted twenty-six  times — to  every  scenario 
department  in  the  country — and  which  was 
eventually  accepted  by  an  editor  to  whom  I 
had  already  submitted  it  twice ;  but  bless  his 
hard  old  heart,  he  never  knew  that.  The 
third  time  he  got  it,  it  probably  happened 
to  be  timely.  So,  you  never  can  tell  what 
may  happen  in  this  writing  game.  Take  it 
seriously;  look  upon  it  as  a  legitimate  in- 
dustry. 

Every  writer  who  can  evolve  a  good 
original  plot  should  work  that  plot  into  a 
magazine  story  and  submit  it  for  publica- 
tion. Scenario  writing  and  magazine  writ- 
ing should  go  hand  in  hand,  and  one  will 
assist  the  other. 

Many-  will  claim  that ,  although  they  can 
write  a  photoplay,  they  cannot  possibly 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  119 

write  their  original  plot  into  a  story  which 
might  prove  interesting  to  the  editor  of  a 
popular  magazine.  In  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  it  is  pure  laziness  which  holds  the  writer 
back  from  making  the  effort.  Well,  that 
laziness  must  be  fought. 

If  one  has  a  fair  education  and  the  ability 
to  write  at  all,  then  why  not  put  one's  whole 
energies  into  the  game?  .The  photoplay  is 
with  us  and  is  going  to  prove  a  lucrative  field 
for  many  thousands  who  are  as  yet  unknown 
to  the  public  who  are  making  and  will  con- 
tinue to  make  moving  pictures  their  chief 
form  of  amusement,  so  why  leave  any  stone 
unturned  that  may  lead  to  fame  and 
fortune? 


T2HOTOPLAYS     intended     for 

-*  production  in  the  Summer 
should  be  written  and  submitted  in 
the  Spring.  Winter  and  Christinas 
stories  should  be  submitted  in  the 
Fall.  Always  figure  in  advance.  Do 
not  try  to  evolve  a  photoplay  from, 
any  magazine  story  you  have  read. 


120  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

And  then,  besides,  there  is  a  certain 
charm  to  the  writer  in  evolving  an  original 
plot  into  a  well  constructed  story.  The 
interchange  of  dialogue  between  the  char- 
acters gives  them  life  and  individuality, 
which  it  is  not  possible  to  impart  to  them 
in  a  scenario,  no  matter  how  vivid  and 
virile  it  may  be.  And  besides  the  pleasure 
which  a  writer  experiences  in  seeing  the 
story  between  the  covers  of  a  magazine,  and 
the  satisfaction  of  work  well  done,  there  is 
•  the  much  better  chance  of  finding  a  market 
for  the  scenario  which  is  based  on  the  pub- 
lished story.  Most  of  the  scenario  writers 
who  have  gained  any  sort  of  success  have 
been  contributors  to  magazines  or  news- 
papers, or  the  authors  of  books. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  many  writers 
who  have  scored  big  successes  in  the  maga- 
zine field  who  have,  as  yet,  not  turned  their 
attentions  to  the  photoplay,  but  their  num- 
bers are  growing  daily  less.  They  are  be- 
ginning to  find  the  photoplay  an  extra  scope 
for  their  talents,  and  their  brilliant  names 
are  lending  added  dignity  to  the  screen. 

This  will  necessarily  make  it  incumbent 
on  the  scenario  writers  to  bend  to  more 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  121 

earnest  efforts,  as  they  must  now  compete 
with  the  men  and  women  of  tried  ability, 
many  of  whose  names  are  household  words, 
and  whose  signature  to  a  photoplay  is  rec- 
ognized as  a  hall  mark  of  competence. 
But  this  should  not  deter  those  who  are 
blest  with  ambition,  for  the  scenario  field 
is  a  wide  and  open  one. 

Above  all,  do  not  be  discouraged.  The 
day  of  the  original  scenario  is  coming  back, 
and  the  plots  that  you  have  treasured  may 
be  worth  their  weight  in  gold. 

Do  not  be  disgruntled  and  discouraged  if 
your  initial  efforts  do  not  meet  with  success. 
Do  not  bear  a  grudge  against  the  scenario 
editors  or  the  producing  directors  if  they  do 
not  think  as  highly  of  your  work  as  you  do 
yourself.  They  may  not  be  able  to  write  as 
good  a  photoplay  as  you,  but  they  are  prob- 
ably better  judges  of  what  they  require  than 
you  can  possibly  be.  A  hen  lays  a  good 
egg,  but  you  would  rather  trust  to  your  own 
judgment  than  to  hers  in  passing  on  the 
merits  of  an  omelet! 

Always  submit  your  photoplays  direct  to 
the  scenario  editors.  If  you  have  an  original 
scenario  which  has  an  original  plot,  do  not 


122  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

place  it  in  the  hands  of  any  party  who  may 
advertise  to  sell  photoplays,  no  matter  how 
alluring  the  advertisement  or  how  honest  it 
may  seem.  If  you  do,  you  will  be  the  big- 
gest kind  of  a  fool. 

You  cannot  copyright  a  photoplay  sce- 
nario. Many  writers  make  anxious  inquiries 
on  this  point.  The  only  way  to  do  so  would 
be  to  tell  your  story  in  fiction  or  in  verse  and 
have  it  printed, — an  expensive  process. 

But  even  if  one  could  copyright  a  photo- 
play scenario,  it  would  be  of  little  use,  be- 
cause it  would  be  very  easy  to  change  the 
title  and  slightly  alter  the  plot,  and  the 
original  author  would  find  it  very  difficult 
to  establish  the  fact  that  it  had  been  pur- 


TF  you  have  worked  out  a  good, 
*  practical  scenario  with  an  original 
plot,  you  are  certain  to  find  a  market 
for  it  sooner  or  later.  The  scenario 
editor  to  whom  you  submitted  it  six 
months  ago  may  be  more  than  glad 
to  consider  it  now.  You  never  can 
tell  what  may  happen. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  123 

loined.  However,  writers  need  have  little 
fear  on  this  score,  because  scenario  editors 
are  honorable  men  and  they  would  not  hold 
responsible  positions  for  any  length  of  time 
if  they  deviated  from  the  ethical  path. 

Staff -writers  should  not  be  allowed  to 
read  'scripts  submitted  by  free-lance  writers. 
I  have  always  contended  this.  "Readers" 
should  be  employed  for  this  purpose,  and 
they  are  being  so  employed,  now,  by  the  best 
of  the  film  companies. 

The  various  methods  of  the  various  com- 
panies and  their  various  producing  directors 
should  be  closely  studied,  and  the  only  way 
for  the  free-lance  writer  to  get  a  line  on 
their  work  is  by  a  close  study  of  their  efforts 
on  the  screen.  Go  and  see  all  the  short  reel 
pictures  that  you  can. 

The  study  of  long  so-called  "feature" 
productions  will  not  help  you  very  much, 
because  they  are  beyond  your  market.  Fea- 
tures are  written  by  the  staff- writers  or  the 
directors  themselves,  and  are  always  planned 
in  the  studios  beforehand.  Except  a  free- 
lance writer  is  especially  requested  to  write 
one,  she  or  he  is  only  wasting  time  and  good 
paper,  No  matter  how  good  your  long  five 


124:  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

or  six-reeler  may  be,  if  you  are  not  well 
known  you  will  find  it  almost  impossible  to 
find  a  market  for  it.  If  a  day  laborer  tried 
to  sell  a  genuine  $20  gold  piece  in  Wall 
Street  for  $15  you  can  imagine  the  slim 
chance  he  would  have  of  disposing  of  it !  It 
would  be  dubbed  a  "gold-brick,"  no  matter 
how  good  or  new  it  might  be.  Well,  your 
long,  laboriously  worked  out  feature  would 
be  in  similar  case.  The  Wall  Street  wise- 
acres often  get  stung  by  what  they  consider 
sure-fire  propositions,  but,  more  often  than 
not,  they  will  blame  the  state  of  the  market, 
and  not  the  real  cause  of  the  flivver.  The 
real  heads  of  the  film  companies  rarely  take 
the  trouble  to  go  into  the  matter  of  the 
scenario — they  are  too  busy! 

When  you  study  pictures  on  the  screen 
you  should  make  note  of  the  name  of  the 
producing  companies  and  also  of  the  direct- 
ors, and  try  and  gauge  the  class  of  stories 
which  seem  to  mostly  appeal  to  them.  You 
should  also  count  the  number  of  scenes  in 
each  picture,  and  jot  it  all  down  in  a  note- 
book, which  you  should  carry  for  that  pur- 
pose. Become  for  a  time  a  picture  "fan." 
You  will  learn  more  from  watching  pic- 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  126 

tures  on  the  screen  than  is  possible  to  be 
obtained  from  any  book  or  treatise  on  sce- 
nario writing. 

If  it  is  your  intention  to  write  magazine 
stories  and  to  evolve  your  stories  from  your 
scenario  plots,  then  it  is  advisable  to  reserve 
the  fiction  rights,  and  to  state  the  fact  on 
the  front  cover  of  your  photoplay.  Scenario 
editors  will  not  object  to  your  doing  this, 
and  will  reserve  to  you  the  option  of  writing 
your  own  plot  into  a  fiction  story  and  reap- 
ing the  financial  reward.  Otherwise  your 
photoplay  may  be  worked  into  a  fiction  story 
by  some  hack  writer,  and — from  your  point 
of  view — hopelessly  mishandled. 

I  also  strongly  advise  magazine  writers  to 
reserve  the  moving  picture  rights  to  their 
stories  when  submitting  them  to  editors  of 
publications ;  otherwise  they  will  debar  them- 
selves from  reaping  the  benefits  which 
should  rightfully  belong  to  them.  I  have 
always  done  so,  and  I  have  never  regretted 
doing  so.  Safeguard  your  own  interests  as 
well  as  you  can,  because  no  one  is  going  to 
help  you  in  the  same  way  as  you  can  help 
yourself. 

You  should  never  attempt  to  sell  a  photo- 


126  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

play  unless  you  are  fairly  well  convinced 
that  you  have  a  salable  article.  Don't  waste 
stamps.  Remember  that  the  average  scena- 
rio department  receives  on  an  average  from 
100  to  150  scripts  daily,  and  99  per  cent  of 
them  go  into  the  waste-paper  basket.  Don't 
feed  that  surfeited  adjunct  of  the  Editor's 
office.  Be  satisfied  in  your  own  mind 
that  you  have  a  story  that  is  original,  and 
that  it  is  worked  out  in  intelligible  fashion, 
with  continuity  of  action  which  will  carry  it 
right  along  to  a  logical  conclusion.  Visual- 
ize every  scene  carefully  and  try  to  depict 
in  your  mind's  eye  how  it  would  appear  to 
you  on  the  screen.  When  you  have  all  this 
well  established  within  your  thinking-booth, 
then  typewrite  it,  or  have  it  typewritten,  and 
consider  which  company  it  would  be  most 
likely  to  appeal  to,  and  send  it  on  its 
journey,  with  a  self -addressed  envelope, 
stamped,  in  accordance  with  regulations, 
and  await  results.  You  will  probably  be 
agreeably  surprised. 

To  such  of  you  who  have  stories  that  have 
been  rejected,  and  which  you  have  long 
since  despaired  of  being  able  to  dispose  of 
to  advantage,  I  strongly  advise  that  you  dig 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  127 

them  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  trunk,  and 
look  them  carefully  over.  You  may  find 
that  the  stories  are  still  original,  and  only 
need  a  little  revision.  Typewrite  them 
afresh,  so  that  they  will  not  appear  to  be 
shop-worn.  Musty  fruits  don't  sell. 

You  may  claim  that  I  am  optimistic ;  but 
I  am  not  unduly  so.  I  am  in  a  position  to 
know;  and  I  can  assure  you,  my  readers  and 
fellow  scribes,  that  the  real  heads  of  the 
various  film  producing  companies  are  begin- 
ning to  sit  up  and  take  notice,  and  are  find- 
ing out,  at  last,  that  the  STORY  is  the 
corner  stone  of  the  photoplay  production 
into  which  they  are  sinking  their  own  and 
their  stockholders'  money. 


/^ORIGINALITY  is  the  worces- 
^*  tershire  of  the  screen.  Don't 
waste  your  time  trying  to  sell  stale 
stuff.  Stale  stuff  is  as  easy  to  get  as 
orange  culls  in  California.  Better 
mail  out  any  day  a  crude  but  plotty 
original  story  than  the  most  polished 
of  stale  stuff! 


128  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Stories  are  not,  as  formerly,  being  pur- 
chased wholesale,  to  be  buried  away  in  sce- 
nario departments  on  the  chance  of  their 
being  some  day  selected  by  one  of  the  direct- 
ors for  production;  and  no  material  is  now 
being  negotiated  for  unless  it  has  been  abso- 
lutely decided  that  it  is  going  to  be  of  prac- 
tical use. 

That  is  one  of  the  main  reasons  why  fewer 
stories  are  purchased  from  free-lance  writers 
than  was  formerly  the  case.  But  this  state 
of  affairs  will  soon  be  changed.  Fresh,  orig- 
inal ideas  and  plots  are  sadly  needed  in  the 
film  business,  and  the  directors  have  fully 
demonstrated  that  they  are  not  capable  of 
producing  them.  The  staff-writers  cannot 
be  expected  to  supply  all  the  original  stories 
required;  that  is  demanding  too  much  of 
them.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  prac- 
tical scenario  writers,  and  must  be  employed 
to  whip  the  ideas  of  the  free-lance  writers 
into  such  shape  as  to  make  them  easy  for  the 
directors  to  handle.  Each  department  has 
its  particular  use. 

The  average  director  has  more  than  his 
hands  full  in  looking  after  the  production  of 
a  story,  without  having  the  task  of  thinking 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  129 

out  and  evolving  the  story  himself.  There 
is  no  use  in  arguing  that  fact.  We  see  their 
efforts  every  day  on  the  screen,  and  if  they 
want  to  keep  the  theatre-going  public  inter- 
ested in  moving  pictures,  if  they  desire  to 
preserve  the  goose  that  lays  their  golden 
egg,  they  will  leave  the  writing  of  the 
stories  to  the  men  and  women  who  have  new 
and  virile  ideas. 

All  this  is  a  preamble  to  the  fact  that  there 
is  an  ever-increasing  demand  for  the  efforts 
of  the  free-lance  writers.  Their  stories  have 
long  been  wilfully  kept  back,  through  the 
selfish  motives  of  others  in  salaried  positions, 
until  hundreds  of  these  writers — many  of 
them  with  big  plots  and  ideas  which  would 
put  big  money  into  the  coffers  of  the  film- 
producing  companies— have  grown  discour- 
aged and  have  discontinued  their  worthy 
efforts  in  disgust. 

There  is  an  urgent  demand  for  their  big 
ideas,  but  the  writers  are  groping  in  the 
dark.  They  feel  themselves  helpless.  They 
do  not  know  to  whom  to  turn  for  advice  as 
to  the  best  means  of  having  their  good  sto- 
ries even  seriously  considered  by  the  men  in 
real  authority.  In  their  distress  many  of 


130  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

the  sterling  writers  in  the  country  have 
placed  their  stories  in  the  hands  of  the  petty 
grafters  who  advertise  in  various  publica- 
tions that  they  are  in  touch  with  the  film 
companies  and  in  a  position  to  sell  their 
stories  for  them.  Advertisers  who  claim  to 
be  able  to  teach  successful  scenario  writing, 
and  who  assure  their  innocent  victims  of  a 
market  for  their  stories,  should  be  made  the 
subject  of  inquiry  by  the  United  States 
postal  authorities.  Anyone  who  aids  palpa- 
ble frauds  on  the  gullible  innocents  of  the 
public  is  equally  guilty,  and  should  be 
swiftly  brought  to  book. 

Believe  me  wrhen  I  say  that  if  a  writer 
cannot  sell  a  story  direct  to  a  film  company, 
there  is  no  one  who  can  help  that  writer  to 
do  so.  Some  of  these  advertising  gentry 
claim  to  have  been  scenario  editors  and  staff- 
writers  and  to  be  experts  in  their  line.  But 
if  they  were  capable  of  writing  as  good  a 
story  as  you  are  yourself,  they  would  be 
busy  selling  their  own  stories,  not  yours. 

That  is  evident  on  the  face  of  it.  Writers 
who  are  worth  their  salt  are  too  busy  turning 
their  own  ideas  into  practical  use  to  bother 
with  the  efforts  of  others.  You  will  find 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  131 

that  it  is  usually  the  incompetents  who  ad- 
vertise that  they  are  competent  to  teach 
subjects  which  cannot  be  taught.  No  one 
can  teach  scenario  writing.  Only  a  close 
study  of  the  pictures  on  the  screen  can  do 
that,  along  with  an  education  which  enables 
you  to  string  your  ideas  into  a  concrete  form 
that  can  be  readily  understood  by  an  intelli- 
gent reader.  If  a  good  housewife  is  expert 
at  making  home  jam,  or  preserves,  she  will 
not  advertise  to  teach  the  other  housewives 
around  her  neighborhood  how  she  does  it. 
Not  on  your  life !  She  is  too  busy  making 
jam  and  preserves,  and  too  much  of  an 
expert  to  be  a  petty  grafter. 

I  have  given  the  hint  before  that  every 


cannot  copyright  a  photo- 
play  scenario.  Many  writers 
make  anxious  inquiries  on  this  point. 
However,  writers  need  have  little 
fear  on  this  score,  because  scenario 
editors  are  honorable  men  and  would 
not  hold  responsible  positions  if  they 
deviated  from  the  ethical  path. 


132  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

writer  who  has  an  original  plot  worthy  to 
be  evolved  into  a  photoplay  should  also  write 
his  or  her  plot  and  ideas  into  a  fiction  story 
and  submit  it  to  the  magazines  to  which  the 
story  would  be  most  likely  to  appeal  for 
publication.  If  you  are  going  to  take  up 
the  business  of  writing  at  all,  go  in  for  all  it 
is  worth.  Don't  be  a  piker.  Don't  be  a  lazy 
writer.  One  form  of  literature  will  help  the 
other,  and  there  is  a  bigger  field  for  the 
writer  of  short  fiction  than  there  ever  was 
or  ever  will  be  for  the  scenario  writer. 
Don't  have  all  your  eggs  in  one  basket.  No 
writer  can  gain  a  literary  reputation  worth 
while  by  solely  writing  photoplays,  and  if 
you  are  seriously  going  to  take  up  a  literary 
career  at  all  you  should  study  the  business 
from  all  angles. 

A  caterer  who  is  running  a  restaurant 
would  never  dream  of  offering  only  soup 
to  his  patrons,  no  matter  how  good  his  soup 
might  be; — no,  he  offers  them  good,  ster- 
ling roasts  and  stews ;  and  other  delectables 
as  well; — he  goes  the  limit.  The  writer 
should  also  go  the  literary  limit.  Put  all 
your  talents  to  work.  Some  of  them  may 
be  latent,  or  dormant.  Wake  them  up,  for 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  133 

we  all  want  to  sell  scenarios,  and  to  get  the 
best  price  possible  for  them.  Most  of  the 
best  companies  are  paying  better  prices  than 
they  did  formerly.  Twenty-five  dollars  per 
reel  was,  up  to  a  year  ago,  the  usual  price 
paid  for  the  average  scenario.  Few  of  the 
higher  class  companies  now  pay  less  than 
$35  for  scripts  from  unknown  writers,  and 
most  of  the  well  known  scenario  authors  are 
demanding  and  getting  from  $100  to  $200 
per  reel  for  original  stories,  and  from  $75 
to  $150  per  reel  for  adaptations  from  stage 
plays  and  books. 

Everyone  who  intends  to  take  up  writing 
as  a  means  of  livelihood,  of  which  photo- 
play writing  is  now  an  important  side  issue, 


T  F  the  author  of  an  original  photo- 
*  play  were  given  the  credit  and 
publicity  which  are  his  due,  film  pro- 
ductions would  be  considerably  im- 
proved. The  scenario  writers  would 
put  more  heart  and  soul  into  their 
work.  Not  all  directors  are  guilty  of 
this  crime. 


134  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

should  perfect  herself  or  himself  in  all  the 
essential  details  connected  with  the  chosen 
calling.  The  carpenter  makes  a  confiden- 
tial study  of  the  saw,  the  hammer,  the 
chisel,  and  his  other  essential  tools,  and 
would  not  consider  himself  competent  if  he 
could  not  use  them  effectively.  Then,  why 
should  a  writer  be  deficient  in  the  knowledge 
of  how  to  use  the  very  simplest  and  abso- 
lutely essential  tools  of  his  trade?  Why 
should  the  writer  be  dependent  on  someone 
else  to  do  the  necessary  work  ? 

A  great  number  of  photoplay  writers 
have,  I  know,  become  greatly  discouraged 
by  lack  of  recognition,  and  by  having  their 
worthy  efforts  returned  again  and  again  by 
all  the  companies  to  whom  they  have  been 
submitted ;  but  I  am  making  no  idle  proph- 
ecy when  I  assure  all  creators  of  scenarios 
that  every  original  story  that  has  been  ruth- 
lessly spurned  in  the  past  will  soon  be 
grabbed  at,  if  reconstructed  to  meet  modern 
methods  of  direction  and  production. 


ADDENDUM 

DIRECTORY  OF  PRODUCING 
COMPANIES 

OR  the  benefit  of  scenario  writers 
Photoplay  Magazine  publishes  month- 
ly a  list  of  the  chief  film-producing  com- 
panies. This  is  the  list: 

STUDIO  DIRECTOKY 

For  the  convenience  of  our  readers  who  may  desire  the 
addresses  of  film  companies  we  give  the  principal  ones 
below.  The  first  is  the  business  office;  (*)  indicates  proper 
office  to  send  manuscripts;  (s)  indicates  a  studio;  at  times 
all  three  may  be  at  one  address. 

AMERICAN  FILM  MFG.  Co.,  6227  Broadway,  Chicago  (s) ; 
Santa  Barbara,  Calif.  (*)  (s). 

BALBOA  AMUSEMENT  PROD.  Co.,  Long  Beach,  Calif.  (*) 
(s). 

BIOGRAPH  COMPANY,  807  East  175th  St.,  New  York  City, 
(*)  (s) ;  Georgia  and  Girard,  Los  Angeles  (s). 

CALIFORNIA  M.  P.  C.,  San  Eafael,  Calif.   (*)    (s). 

THOS.  A.  EDISON,  INC.,  2826  Decatur  Ave.,  New  York 
City  (*)  (s). 

EQUITABLE  MOTION  PICTURE  CORP.,  130  West  46th  St., 
New  York  City.  (*)  Fort  Lee,  N.  J.  (s). 

135 


136  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

ESSANAY  FILM  MFG.  Co.,  1333  Argyle  St.,  Chicago  (*) 
(s). 

FAMOUS  PLAYERS  FILM  Co.,  128  West  56th  St.,  New 
York  City  (s)  (*). 

Fox  FILM  CORPORATION,  130  West  46th  St.,  New  York 
City  (*) ;  Los  Angeles  (s) ;  Fort  Lee,  N.  J.  (s). 

GAUMONT  COMPANY,  110  West  40th  St.,  New  York 
City  (*) ;  Flushing,  N.  Y.  (s)  ;  Jacksonville,  Fla.  (s). 

DAVID  HORSLEY  STUDIO,  Main  and  Washington,  Los  Ange- 
les  (*)  (s). 

KALEM  COMPANY,  235  West  23d  St.,  New  York  City 
(*);  251  W.  19th  St.,  New  York  City  (s)  ;  1425  Fleming 
St.,  Hollywood,  Calif,  (s) ;  Tallyrand  Ave.,  Jacksonville, 
Fla.  (s);  Glendale,  Calif,  (s). 

GEORGE  KLEINE,  805  E.  175th  St.,  N.  Y.  City  (*). 

LASKY  FEATURE  PLAY  Co.,  485  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York 
Cityp  6284  Selma  Ave.,  Hollywood,  Calif.  (*)  (s). 

LONE  STAR  FILM  CORPORATION,  Los  Angeles,  Calif., 
(Chaplin). 

LUBIN  MFG.  Co.,  20th  and  Indiana,  Philadelphia  (*) ; 
Broad  and  Glenwood,  Philadelphia  (s) ;  Coronado,  Calif. 
(s) ;  Jacksonville,  Fla.  (s). 

METRO  PICTURES  CORP.,  1476  Broadway,  New  York  City 
(*).  (All  manuscripts  for  the  following  studios  go  to 
Metro's  Broadway  address):  Kolfe  Photoplay  Co.  and 
Columbia  Pictures  Corp.,  3  West  61st  St.,  New  York  City 
(s) ;  Popular  Plays  and  Players,  Fort  Lee,  N.  J.  (s) ; 
Quality  Pictures  Corp.,  Metro  office. 

OLIVER  MOROSCO  PHOTOPLAY  Co.,  222  West  42d  St.,  New 
York  City;  201  N.  Occidental  Blvd.,  Los  Angeles.  (*)  (s). 

PALLAS  PICTURES,  220  West  42d  St.,  New  York  City;  205 
N.  Occidental  Blvd.,  Los  Angeles  (*)  (s). 

PATHE  FRERES,  Jersey  City,  N.  J.    (*)    (s). 

PATHE  EXCHANGE,  25  West  45th  St.,  New  York  City 
(*)  (s). 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  137 

SELIG  POLYSCOPE  Co.,  Garland  Bldg.,  Chicago  (*)  (s)  ; 
3800  Mission  Road,  Los  Angeles  (s). 

SIGNAL  FILM  CORP.,  Los  Angeles,  Calif   (*)    (s). 

THANHOUSER  FILM  CORP.,  New  Rochelle,  N.  Y.  (*)  (s) ; 
Jacksonville,  Ma.  (s). 

TRIANGLE  FILM  CORPORATION,  1457  Broadway,  New  York 
City;  Fine  Arts  Studio  (Griffith)  4500  Sunset  Blvd.,  Holly- 
wood, Calif.  (*)  (s);  Keystone  Studio  (Sennett),  1712 
Alessandro  St.,  Los  Angeles  (*)  (s)  ;  Kay-Bee  Studio 
(Inc.),  Culver  City,  Calif.  (*)  (s). 

UNIVERSAL  FILM  MFG.  Co.,  1600  Broadway,  New  York 
City;  573  Eleventh  Ave.,  New  York  City  (*)  (s) ;  Universal 
City,  Calif.  (*)  (s) ;  Coytsville,  N.  J.  (s). 

VITAGRAPH  COMPANY  OF  AMERICA,  East  15th  and  Locust 
Ave.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  (*)  (s)  ;  Hollywood,  Calif.  (*)  (s)  ; 
Bay  Shore,  Long  Island,  N.  Y.  (s). 

WHARTON,  INC.,  Ithaca,  N.  Y.   (*)    (s). 

WORLD  FILM  CORP.,  130  West  46th  St.,  New  York  City 
(*);  Fort  Lee,  N.  J.  (s). 

CLARA  KIMBALL  YOUNG  FILM  CORP.,  126  W.  46th  St., 
New  York  (*). 


GLOSSARY 

ADAPTATION— A  photoplay  built  from  published 
fiction  or  fact. 

ART  DIRECTOR — One  whose  duties  are  to  see  to 
it  that  any  art  objects  in  a  "set"  are  correct  as  to 
period,  and  that  the  decorations  and  embellishments 
of  interiors  are  in  artistic  harmony. 

ATMOSPHERE— The  impalpable  but  very  real 
ether  of  emotions  which  surrounds  a  scene  or  a 
play ;  the  essence  of  locale  enwrapping  it.  Like  all 
vague  descriptive  terms,  "atmosphere"  is  susceptible 
of  any  of  a  dozen  definitions,  as  may  best  suit  the 
fancy  of  the  definer. 

AUXILIARY  CHARACTER— One  other  than  any 
of  the  chief  characters  of  a  photoplay. 

BUNCH  LIGHTS — A  cluster  of  incandescents  used 

in  "sets." 
BUSINESS — Author's    instructions    as    to    how    the 

player  shall  act  in  specific  places  in  the  plot. 
BUST — A  term  used  to  designate  that  only  face  and 

shoulders  are  to  be  shown  in  a  close-up  view. 

"CAMERA" — When  a  Director  has  his  players,  or 
his  momentarily  unpeopled  "set,"  about  ready  to 
begin  photographing,  he  calls  sharply:  "Camera!" 
and  the  Cameraman  must  instantly  have  his  scene  in 
perfect  focus  and  himself  ready  to  begin  turning 
the  crank  at  the  command  "Shoot !" 

133 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  139 

CAMERA  EYE — A  person  who  in  his  mental  viewing 
of  a  plot,,  scene,  episode  or  incident  can  so  visualize 
it  as  to  determine  correctly  whether  it  would  film 
effectively,  is  said  to  have  the  "camera  eye." 

CAPTION — Same  as  subtitle;  an  explanatory  line 
or  lines  relating  to  certain  scenes  or  parts  of  a 
photoplay. 

CAST — The  players  composing  a  company,  and  the 
respective  characters  of  the  photoplay  they  inter- 
pret. 

CHARACTER — One  of  the  supposititious  persons  in 
a  screen  story. 

CLOSE-UP — The  photographic  enlargement  of  any 
fragment  of  a  scene,  present  or  previous,  such  as  a 
face,  or  the  passing  of  a  finger  across  the  page  of 
an  opened  book  underneath  specific  lines,  or  a  watch 
held  in  the  palm  with  the  hands  of  it  marking  a 
crucial  hour,  etc.,  etc. 

CONTINUITY— Logical  progression  of  the  action  of 
a  plot;  absence  of  contradiction  as  scene  succeeds 
scene. 

COOPER-HEWITTS— The  mercury-vapor  lamps 
used  (overhead)  for  photographing  interior  scenes. 
They  diffuse  an  intense,  steely-blue  radiance  which 
has  the  peculiar  studio  effect  of  making  the  fea- 
tures resemble  those  of  a  bloated  corpse,  swollen 
and  mottled. 

CUT-BACK — To  return  to  and  repeat  a  scene  previ- 
ously shown;  or  to  return  to  a  previous  "set"  and 
reuse  it  for  a  new  scene. 

CUT  SCENE— A  filmed  scene  which  has  been  short- 
ened by  the  Cutter  after  being  viewed  in  the 
projection  room;  instruction  to  stop  camera. 


140  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

DENOUEMENT— The  "now  you've  danced,  pay  the 
fiddler"  part  of  the  story  which  comes  after  the 
climax  of  the  plot  has  been  shown  on  the  screen; 
the  "settling  up"  aftermath  of  the  plot;  the  final 
(moral  or  otherwise)  justification  of  the  story;  the 
denouement  may  be  pleasant  or  unpleasant  as 
called  for  by  the  plot. 

DIRECTOR— The  person  whose  chief  duty  is  to 
stand  by  and  oversee  the  acting  of  the  scenario  by 
the  players ;  to  correct  them  where  they  are  wrong 
or  not  up  to  their  best,  and  generally  to  be  on  the 
job  every  minute  to  the  end  that  the  very  best  pos- 
sible photoplay  shall  come  out  of  the  written  plot. 
In  action — that  is  to  say,  when  scenes  are  being 
played  or  rehearsed  before  the  camera — the  Direc- 
tor is  czar  absolute ;  he  duplicates  the  stage  manager 
of  the  spoken  drama.  A  Director  General  is  one 
who  has  under  him  the  Directors,  of  whom  a  large 
producing  company  may  have  a  staff  of  a  dozen  or 
twenty. 

DIRECTOR  OF  LOCATION— The  person  whose 
duty  it  is  to  scour  the  countryside  and  find  suitable 
sites  or  locations  for  the  purposes  of  the  photoplay 
to  be  made ;  he  generally  has  a  list  of  these  on  hand, 
card-indexed,  against  emergency. 

DISCOVER — To  become  conscious  of  the  presence 
in  a  scene  of  a  character  already  upon  the  scene. 

DISSOLVE — To  melt  one  picture  into  another  with- 
out any  withdrawal  of  the  first  from  the  screen. 

EPISODE — An  incident  arising  out  of  the  plot  but 
not  a  part  of  the  plot,  introduced  to  give  variety 
and  quickstep  to  the  plot's  unfoldment;  one  of  a 
series  of  separate  yet  related  stories. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  141 

ESTABLISH — To  register  in  a  broader  sense:  Thus, 
a  player  will  be  ordered  by  the  Director  to  "reg- 
ister" wrath,  and  to  "establish"  triumph,  or  inno- 
cence, or  guilt. 

EXHIBITOR— The  person  who  operates  the  theatre 
or  other  place  where  the  moving  picture  is  shown. 

EXIT,  EXEUNT— Former,  the  going  of  one  char- 
acter off  the  photo-stage;  latter,  of  more  than  one 
character. 

EXTERIOR— An  out-of-doors  setting. 

FADE — The  word  "fade"  is  used  in  two  compound 
forms:  Fade-in  and  Fade-out.  The  former  is  a 
scenario  direction  to  dissolve  into  a  scene  while 
being  shown  on  the  screen  some  other  picture,  such 
as  the  face  of  the  heroine  in  reminder  of  a  previous 
happening;  to  fade-out  is  to  dissolve  the  scene  on 
the  screen  into  blackness. 

FEATURE — A  "feature  play"  is  one,  seldom  less 
than  four  reels  in  length,  which  either  deals  with 
some  unusual  subject  in  a  more  or  less  original 
way,  or  deals  with  some  more  or  less  original  sub- 
ject in  an  unusual  way;  the  term,  however,  is 
extremely  elastic  and  has  been  much  abused,  often 
being  applied  erroneously  in  place  of  "spectacle" 
play.  Example:  "Brewster's  Millions/' 

FILM — (1)  A  chemically  sensitized  strip  of  celluloid 
upon  which  the  actions  of  the  players,  and  their 
surroundings,  are  photographically  registered;  (2) 
a  photoplay;  (3)  to  turn  a  story  into  a  photoplay. 

FLASH — The  throwing  upon  the  screen  for  a  frag- 
ment of  a  moment  of  a  scene  or  character  or  other 
component  part  of  the  plot,  to  heighten  the  effect 
of  the  immediate  scene. 


142  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

FLASH-BACK — A  fragment  of  a  previous  scene 
reflashed  on  the  screen  to  intensify  or  clarify  the 
scene  being  shown. 

FREE-LANCE — A  photoplay  writer  who  is  under 
contract  or  engagement  to  no  producing  company, 
but  submits  his  scenarios  where  and  when  he  wills. 

GESTURE — To  register  by  body  pantomime  instead 
of  by  facial  expression. 

INSERT — (noun)  A  writing,  such  as  a  letter,  tele- 
gram or  newspaper  clipping,  thrown  upon  the  screen 
between  scenes  to  reimpress  some  action  which  has 
gone  before;  (verb)  corresponding. 

INTERIOR— An  indoors  setting. 

INTERPOSE— To  break  in  abruptly  upon  the 
orderly  progression  of  incidents  and  show  something 
unrelated  to  the  immediate  sequence  but  which 
emphasizes  a  turn  of  the  plot. 

LEAD — The  principal  part  in  a  photoplay  cast. 

LEADER — The  caption,  or  explanatory  line,  which 
precedes  the  first  scene  on  the  screen.  Subsequent 
lines  of  this  character  are  called  "subtitles." 

LENS  LOUSE — A  vulgar  but  much  used  name  for  a 
player  who  snatches  at  every  opportunity  to  obtrude 
himself  in  the  camera  foreground. 

LOCATION — The  out-of-doors  place  where  and 
whereabout  a  photoplay  or  part  of  it  is  being  made. 
When  a  company  is  thus  engaged  it  is  said  to  be 
"on  location." 

LOT — The  enclosed  grounds  around  the  studio  build- 
ing or  buildings. 

MULTIPLE  REEL — A  photoplay  of  more  than  one 
reel. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  143 

OFF— The  reverse  of  "On." 

ON — When  a  player  is  "in  a  set/'  or  before  the 
camera,  he  or  she  is  said  to  be  "on;"  that  is  to  say, 
on  the  stage. 

OPPOSITE— When  a  female  part  is  cast  as  a  foil 
to  a  male  leading  part,  or  vice  versa,  the  person 
who  plays  the  foil  part  is  said  to  be  acting  "op- 
posite" the  lead. 

PAD — To  "pad"  a  story  (scenario)  is  to  inject  into 
it  unnecessary  matter  in  order  to  lengthen  it. 

PANTOMIME — Screen  action  by  movements  of  the 
limbs  or  other  portions  of  the  body,  or  by  the  fea- 
tures, to  convey  meaning. 

PHOTOPLAY — A  story  told  in  motion  pictures. 

PICTURE  STORY— A  photoplay. 

PLOT — The  characters,  and  happenings  in  their 
sequence,  around  and  upon  which  the  scenario  is 
built. 

PORTABLE  LIGHTS— A  stand  or  rack  of  mercury 
lights  of  an  intensity  like  white-hot  steel,  fed  by  a 
pliable  cable  so  that  they  can  be  lifted  and  car- 
ried from  point  to  point  of  the  studio  "set"  as 
desired;  they  may  be  used  alone  or  in  conjunction 
with  the  Cooper-Hewitts ;  one  of  their  chief  advan- 
tages is  that  they  can  be  carried  to  any  exterior 
point — any  place  beyond  the  studio  buildings — for 
use  in  taking  night  interiors,  thus  doing  away  with 
the  necessity  of  photographing  night  interiors  in 
the  daytime  and  tinting  the  film  pale  blue  or  amber 
to  make  it  appear  as  night  on  the  screen.  The 
intensity  of  these  portable  lights  is  so  severe  that 
the  players'  eyes  become  painfully  swollen  and 
almost  blinded  if  they  have  to  endure  them  long 
at  a  time. 


144  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

PROPS — Abbreviation  of  properties,  the  movable 
objects  used  in  preparing  "sets"  for  scenes.  Also 
the  studio  name  of  the  man  who  has  charge  of  the 
care  of  these  objects,  the  Property  Man. 

PUNCH  (noun) — To  "put  the  punch  into"  a  scene 
or  play  is  to  inject  into  it  action  which  will  stir 
strong  emotion,  of  one  kind  or  another. 

READING — An  examination,  perusal,  of  a  submitted 

scenario    or    synopsis,    or    both,    by    the    Scenario 

Editor's  department. 

REEL — Approximately   1,000  feet  of  film. 
REGISTER— To  portray  by  the  expression  of  the 

features  a  given  emotion,  as  hate,  love,  joy,  anger, 

benevolence,  grief,  etc. 
RELEASE — Surrender  of  a  photoplay  to  exhibitors 

for  exhibition  on  an  understood  date. 

SCENARIO— The  written  form  from  which  the 
photoplay  is  filmed,  or  produced. 

SCENARIO  EDITOR— The  chief  of  the  Scenario 
Staff. 

SCENARIO  STAFF— The  writers  and  readers  of 
photoplays  comprising  a  corps  under  employment 
by  a  film-producing  company. 

SCENE — Portrayal  of  a  situation  by  the  camera  be- 
tween the  time  when  it  is  focused  and  the  time  when 
it  is  moved  to  another  point. 

SCREEN — The  space,  whether  cloth-covered  or  whit- 
ened wall,  upon  which  the  film  images  are  thrown 
and  move. 

'SCRIPT — Abbreviation  of  manuscript;  the  written 
form  of  the  plot  and  its  related  instructions  for 
producing. 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING  145 

SERIAL — A  photoplay  made  up  of  too  many  reels 
to  be  presented  at  one  performance  and  which  hence 
is  presented  in  installments,  commonly  not  less  than 
one  week  apart. 

SET — The  arrangement  of  articles  of  furniture,  back- 
ground, decorations,  etc.,  for  the  enactment  of  a 
scene  or  scenes. 

SEQUENCE— The  orderly,  or  logical,  procedure  of 
the  events  and  situations  of  a  plot,  each  progressive 
of  the  one  preceding. 

"SHOOT"— When  the  Director  is  ready  for  the 
Cameraman  to  begin  photographing  a  scene,  he  calls 
sharply :  "Shoot !" 

SITUATION— The  temporary  state  or  relation  of 
affairs  at  a  point  in  the  development  of  the  plot. 

SLAPSTICK  COMEDY— Comedy  of  the  horseplay 
sort. 

SPECTACLE — A  photoplay  embracing  scenes  of 
gorgeousness  or  great  splendor  or  unusual  numbers 
of  participants,  designed  to  impress  the  eye  and 
mind  with  its  lavishness,  its  hugeness,  or  its  pre- 
tentious splendor.  Examples:  "Judith  of  Bethulia," 
"The  Birth  of  a  Nation/' 

SPLIT  REEL— One-half  of  a  reel,  or  approximately 
500  feet  of  film.  A  short  "filler"  play. 

STAFF  READER— One  of  the  Scenario  Editor's 
assistants ;  one  who  reads  submitted  scenarios  and 
passes  initial  judgment  on  their  native  worth  or 
adaptability  to  the  present  needs  of  the  company 
employing  him — or  her. 

STAR — A  leading  actor  or  actress  who  has  risen  to 
such  heights  of  popular  favor  (or  is  intended  so  to 
rise  by  the  employer)  that  he  heads  his  own  com- 
pany, under  the  producing  firm's  direction. 

STORY— Same  as  plot. 


146  PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

STUDIO — The  place,  inside  or  outside  of  walls, 
where  a  photoplay  is  made. 

SUBTITLE— Explanatory  lines  thrown  from  time 
to  time  upon  the  screen  to  help  keep  clear  the 
thread  of  the  story. 

SUSPENSE  (One  of  the  most  vital  principles  of 
plot-building) — The  keeping  of  the  audience  in 
doubt  as  to  what  will  be  the  outcome  of  a  situation, 
incident  or  series  of  events  already  shown  and  of 
major  importance  to  the  development  of  the  story. 

SYNOPSIS — A  compact  resume  of  the  story  as  elab- 
orated in  the  scenario. 

TECHNICAL  DIRECTOR— One  whose  duties  it  is 
to  see  that  no  inconsistencies  of  inanimate  detail 
creep  into  a  "set."  For  example,  if  the  scene  calls 
for  the  wearing  of  the  uniform  of  a  soldier  of  a 
certain  army  of  a  certain  period,  the  uniform  must 
be  exactly  correct — not  eleven  buttons  or  nine,  but 
ten,  if  ten  were  originally  worn.  A  Technical 
Director  never  would  have  permitted  a  certified 
milk  bottle  to  appear  on  the  ante  helium  sideboard 
when  Dustin  Farnum  played  "Cameo  Kirby"  at 
Louisville ! 

TECHNIQUE — The  method  employed  in  filming  the 

story. 
TINT — Passing  daylight  films  through  pale  blue  or 

amber  coloring  solutions  to  transform  them  (on  the 

screen)  into  night  scenes. 

THRILLER — Another  name  for  a  melodramatic 
scene,  reel  or  play.  Commonly  applied  to  a  class 
of  plays. 

VISION — A  striking  and  premeditated  pose  by  one 
or  more  characters  picturing  the  climax  of  a  series 
of  progressive  scenes  just  ended. 


PHOTOPLAY 
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Dept.  13,  CHICAGO 


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